


No Charm Equal to Tenderness of Heart

by Nejinee



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Bokuto Koutarou & Kuroo Tetsurou Friendship, Bokuto Siblings, Canon Universe, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Hand Jobs, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Humor, M/M, Minor Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou, Mutual Pining, Post-High School, Pre-Time Skip, Romance, Sexual Content, Texting, owl family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:35:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 34,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28796982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nejinee/pseuds/Nejinee
Summary: Sometimes Bokuto makes brilliant (yet terrible) spur-of-the-moment decisions.Unfortunately, Akaashi and Kuroo are the ones who have to deal with the outcomes of those brilliant (terrible) decisions.-Akaashi is in love, Bokuto is oblivious, and Kuroo and Kenma suffer for it.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 23
Kudos: 148





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note: I made up Tokyo Tech University to accommodate my needs. :D Forgive me.

The crowd stomped and clapped their appreciation as the final whistle blew, indicating Tokyo Tech University had won yet another volleyball match.

“Yeah!” Bokuto jumped up and punched the air. “Perfect spike wins the game!” His teammates crowded around him, hands slapping his back, their voices loud and boisterous in his ears.

“Eh, nice job, ace,” Captain Noriaki said, ruffling Bokuto’s hair. “Earned that number four, huh?”

“I did!” Bokuto crowed and high-fived Kuroo as he approached.

“I was losing faith there,” Kuroo smirked. He wiped at his hair, his bangs getting stuck to his sweaty skin. “Took you long enough.”

Bokuto pouted, “ _Kuroo_ , you know my straights are hard!”

“Uh-huh,” Kuroo rolled his eyes.

Noriaki nudged Kuroo with his elbow. “Oi, you always gotta be so rough on him?”

“Yes,” Kuroo said with a tired smile. “None of you had to train with this fool when he was under one-eighty centimetres tall. It’s because of my tough training that he’s even here!”

Bokuto stood up to his full height, ”We won! Stop being a party-pooper, Kuroo!”

Kuroo exhaled and tugged the hem of his team shirt up to wipe at his face. “Whatever. I’m fucking wrecked. My legs are _killing_ me. Urgh.”

“Good job, team!” Noriaki clapped. “A couple more of these and we’re into the preliminaries!”

“Again!” Bokuto yelled, his chest puffed out with pride. It was his third year on the TT University team and this year he’d finally earned his number four jersey. His blood thrummed as he went back over the game in his head. He was getting better every play, every match, which was all he ever wanted. Get stronger, get faster, eventually join a V-League team, and _then_ represent Japan on the international stage. _Simple._ Achievable goals, Akaashi always said, were easier to grasp. Though Akaashi also said Bokuto’s idea of ‘achievable’ wasn’t the same as everyone else’s.

Speaking of Akaashi.

Bokuto turned to look into the crowd. The volleyball court wasn’t as full as their last game, but it wasn’t all bad. He grinned wide when he spotted a familiar face in the lower corner. He jogged over, arms waving. “‘Kaashi! We won! Did you see? Did you see my spike? It was like _whoosh-pow!”_ He mimed a hard smash, with his hand sweeping in front of his body.

Akaashi, as always, was sitting in the front row, a small smile gracing his features. Bokuto didn’t miss how tired Akaashi looked, poor guy, which meant he had to show his appreciation for his friend showing up to yet another university game.

“You did very well, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi said. He had his backpack with him and a black baseball cap casting a shadow over his eyes. Bokuto leaned over the metal barrier that separated them and kicked his legs out behind him.

“Did you see our new special? Third tempo max!” Bokuto grinned.

Akaashi nodded. He got to his feet and came over to the barrier. “It was faster than I thought it would be.”

“Oi, you giving away our trade secrets?” Kuroo said, appearing out of nowhere and swatting at Bokuto’s hair.

“Eh,” Bokuto pouted, “no.” He glanced at Akaashi who was tilting his head in question. “It’s Akaashi. He’s a secret-keeper.”

“Bokuto- _san_ ,” Akaashi sighed, “you shouldn’t be telling me secret plays. Apologies, Kuroo-san,” he blinked at Kuroo who was now leaning his arm on Bokuto’s shoulder. “I didn’t realize.”

Kuroo waved him off. “It’s fine. I don’t care. Not like we give him the real important plays. Not with a head like his, made of Swiss cheese.”

“Ak _aa_ shi,” Bokuto cut in, dragging out the name, “You still got time for food later, after? Later after?” He made a munching mouth Pac-man movement with his hand. Bokuto had been looking forward to today all week. Akaashi was so busy these days, and between volleyball and Akaashi living outside of downtown Tokyo, it was tough for them to hang out like they used to.

“Of course,” Akaashi said, shrugging his bag up higher on his shoulder. “You must be hungry.”

“Rude,” Kuroo said, “Not inviting me.”

“I see you every day,” Bokuto nudged him. Kuroo kicked his ankle in retaliation. “I want to see Akaashi.”

“Psh,” Kuroo flicked his hair out of his eyes. “I see how it is.”

“You’re welcome to–“ Akaashi murmured but was cut off by a sharp whistle.

Bokuto looked over his shoulder. The ref was standing with the two teams, hands on his hips, glaring their way.

“Oopsie,” Kuroo chuckled, “gotta go.”

“Okay, okay,” Bokuto hopped away from the barrier, waving at Akaashi as he walked back. “Wait right there, ‘Kaashi! I’ll come find you! Or wait out by the doors. Or somewhere I’ll see you. Or maybe–”

“He’ll text you!” Kuroo barked, yanking on Bokuto’s shirt.

Akaashi waved and watched Kuroo drag a grinning Bokuto over to the fuming official.

* * *

“Here.”

Akaashi looked up to find a dumpling hoveringin front of his face, held between a pair of chopsticks. “Oh, no thank you, Bokuto-san.”

“It’s delicious!” Bokuto said, smiling wide, “c’mon. Yum yum.”

“I can’t eat your food you ordered,” Akaashi said, but after a moment he relented and grabbed the dumpling in his own chopsticks. He bit into it. It _was_ delicious.

“Ah?” Bokuto waggled his not insignificant eyebrows. “Good, huh?”

“Very,” Akaashi nodded. He chewed slowly, savouring the sweet flavour of the pork mixed with the onions and spices. “No wait, Bokuto-san, don’t–“ he leaned forward to wave Bokuto off as the other man tried to push more dumplings onto Akaashi’s plate.

“But you only ordered _that_ ,” Bokuto gave a pointed look at the simple sushi roll set sitting in front of Akaashi. “You gotta eat more. You’re a big boy.”

“It’s fine,” Akaashi sighed, “Please don’t mind me. I’m not that hungry.”

“Hmmm,” Bokuto frowned, then pushed two dumplings onto Akaashi’s plate and withdrew hastily before Akaashi could do anything about it. “You usually eat more.”

Akaashi’s mouth lifted on one end. He couldn’t deny Bokuto’s desire to feed him. “I do, but I can’t right now. I have food at home, at the apartment.” He sighed again. He was embarrassed to admit this. “Money is… well, a little tight again.”

Bokuto frowned and paused in his attempt to push more rice into his own mouth. He put his rice bowl down. “It is? I thought your job was paid this time? Isn’t it better than that newspaper place?”

“Well, yes,” Akaashi said, “but it’s an internship. They don’t pay a lot, mostly just my commuting money. Also rent is due this week and it’s all just sort of piling up, as it always does at the end of the month.” He smiled across the table, “That’s what I get for insisting on staying in Tokyo. Cost of living is much cheaper in, say, Osaka.”

“Mmf!” Bokuto said, mouth full of rice again. “You can’t move to Osaka! It's too far! I’d miss you.”

“I’m not going to,” Akaashi said, picking up a sushi roll. “I’m sorry if I sound bitter.”

“You don’t,” Bokuto said. He swallowed and took a gulp of his drink. He wiped at his mouth and smiled that wonderful smile of his, the one that was contagious and made Akaashi’s mouth turn up at the end to match. He had a couple rice grains stuck to his chin. “You look like you got a cloud around your head ‘Kaashi.”

Akaashi hadn’t meant to carry his concerns over into his dinner with Bokuto. Usually he was able to cover up any bad moods but perhaps today had just gone on too long for him to not falter near the end.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “It’s nothing for you to worry about. I just have to be careful with my spending until I get my next pay.”

“You’re very scrupulous,” Bokuto nodded, which made Akaashi blink.

“I try to be,” Akaashi nodded. His eyes grazed over Bokuto. The other man was obviously still working out, going by the tightness in the shoulders of his sweater. Last time Akaashi had seen that sweater, it had fit normally, with no stretching at the seams. “How is your schooling going?”

“Ehhhh,” Bokuto said, making a face, “I’m doing okay. Enkei-senpai is still helping me with my script for our play. I don't know how to make a story. I just want to act it out, you know? Get on stage with the lights 'n' stuff!”

Bokuto, upon receiving his scholarship to Tokyo Tech had immediately run over to Akaashi’s house and demanded he help him select classes that wouldn’t get him kicked out. A sports scholarship was great, but it meant he still had to have decent grades. Bokuto’s parents were pleased their son was following his dream of playing volleyball, but they were even more pleased to know they hadn’t had to foot the bill for it.

For the last three years Akaashi had helped Bokuto determine what classes were interesting enough to keep his attention so he didn’t fail. Ceramics was one successful choice he’d kept going all the way into his third year, and drama was another. As it stood, Bokuto might actually graduate with a degree in fine arts. Who would have guessed it?

Akaashi on the other hand, hadn’t received much in the way of scholarships - though he had applied to as many grants and bursary programs as he could find. It had come as a serious blow to discover that his perfect grades and excellent sport achievements hadn’t led to a good school offering him a full scholarship. His first year of university had been tough, coming to terms with the fact that he had worked himself to the bone–the way society had taught him–and he hadn’t benefited from it at all. There were apparently better students and better athletes out there who deserved those coveted spots.

He was doing better now, in his second year of his literature and editorial program. He had a couple great senpais helping him through the tough assignments and a reasonably good internship at a manga publisher. Hopefully, fingers crossed, this job would lead to him finding something more permanent, something with a livable wage. Ultimately, he didn’t want to be a burden on his parents who had done so much for him already. They were still paying the remaining portion of his tuition, after his minor bursary, and a quarter of his rent too.

“In ceramics I made a cool set of cups and a teapot,” Bokuto said brightly. He tapped at his phone, flicking through the million photos in the album app. Akaashi glimpsed a whole series of what looked to be a bunch of dogs in a dog park. Bokuto _did_ love dogs. He turned the screen to Akaashi, who leaned in. “Look.”

The picture showed a lopsided trio of cups that sat beside something that was perhaps _reminiscent_ of a teapot on a dirty, clay-muddied table. “It’s very nice,” Akaashi smiled.

“It doesn’t pour straight,” Bokuto said, still grinning, “But sensei says I’ll get better at it.”

Akaashi may be biased, but even an ugly teapot made by Bokuto’s hands was worth more than all the ancient ones in the Tokyo National Museum exhibit. “I’m sure you will,” Akaashi said, popping a sushi roll into his mouth.

Bokuto put his phone down and refocused on Akaashi. “Do you need money?” He said bluntly. “‘Cos I can give you some, you know it’s no problem.”

Akaashi tried to respond, but needed to swallow first. Bokuto kept chattering.

“It’s no big deal, not for you, Akaashi. You know I have extra spending cash, plus my parents send me some sometimes and they love you, so it’s not like they’d care if I–“

“No,” Akaashi said firmly, looking down at this plate. “No, thank you. I understand you mean well, but that is not required. I’m doing fine.”

“But–“ Bokuto said.

“Seriously, Bokuto-san, I’ll be okay. It’s only for this little while.”

Bokuto made a concerned face. “You said that last month, though. And I get you don’t wanna talk about it, but it’s _me_ , Akaashi. I don’t want you to get all skinny because you can’t afford to eat!”

“I’m eating just fine,” Akaashi sighed and looked over at his friend. “It’s temporary. I was actually looking at other more affordable apartments, a little further outside of Tokyo. I can commute in and save money if I move, perhaps. I just need to plan it out. Please don’t worry.”

Bokuto eyed him. “But if you move further away, you’ll only be more tired. And you’ll have less time to hang out.”

Akaashi sighed. “Well, I’m considering my options.” Beggars can’t be choosers after all.

Bokuto’s eyes glazed over. He seemed to be thinking. Akaashi was familiar with the look. He carried on eating, enjoying the dumplings Bokuto had shared with him, waiting for the inevitable moment Bokuto's brain came back online.

“Oh!” Bokuto cried, slamming his palms to the small table. A few other patrons looked up. “I forgot! Akaashi! You can move in with me!”

Akaashi frowned. “What?”

“Yeah, yeah!” Bokuto grinned and smacked the table some more. A waitress tensed up, ready to come over and chew them out. Akaashi waved Bokuto down.

“Hush, hush.”

“The rent is super cheap because the University owns the building,” Bokuto went on, “If you move in with me you’ll be closer to _your_ school as well and then you don’t gotta pay commuting fees on top of school fees, _and_ you’ll have more time to sleep and eat and hang out!”

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi said, raising a brow. “You live with Kuroo-san. Where would I go? The couch? I do not want to be a third occupant in a two-bedroom home.”

“No, no!” Bokuto flapped a hand in the air. “Kuroo’s moving out.”

Akaashi blinked, “What? Really?” Kuroo hadn't mentioned that at all. _Hm._

“Yeah, yeah, I forgot–er–Kenma got his house, you know? He’s moving in there!”

Akaashi was skeptical, “Why would Kuroo move further from–“

“Don’t worry, don’t worry,” Bokuto grinned. “You can move in. Take Kuroo’s room. His rent is nothing. Cheaper than my new knee pads.”

“I–“ Akaashi swallowed. Was this too good to be true? Living with Bokuto… he hadn’t imagined such a dream could–no–he needed to get a grip. This was fantasy thinking. He lived in the real world where people didn’t suddenly get to live with the person they’d had a secret crush on for the last six years. “I don’t know, Bokuto-san,” he murmured. “What if–“

“No what ifs!” Bokuto cried, “It’s perfect! If you move in then we can see each other all the time! Wouldn’t that be great?”

Akaashi leaned in and, using his thumb, brushed off the stray grains of rice stuck to Bokuto's chin. He didn’t want to say that the mere thought of sharing a living space with Bokuto was enough to make him little faint. Yes, Bokuto was _a lot_ , but Akaashi always enjoyed being around him. A little too much, if he was honest.

“When?” he asked, sitting back and putting his chopsticks down.

“When what?” Bokuto said, tilting his head in question.

“When will Kuroo be moving out?”

“Oh, um, end of the month!” Bokuto said.

“Really?” Akaashi blinked. “So soon?”

“Eh?” Bokuto’s smile faltered.

“The end of the month is in two weeks,” Akaashi said. “I’d need to tell my landlord and figure out moving my stuff. I don’t have a lot, mind you. My roommates need to know too. Is this for real, Bokuto-san? You’re not teasing?”

“Never!” Bokuto wailed, “You move in, Kuroo moves out! You want to, right?” He wavered for a moment, thinking maybe Akaashi didn’t want to live with him.

Akaashi thought about it and couldn’t find a tangible reason why not to take up such a tempting offer. “Okay,” he said, smiling. “I will move in. Thank you for offering, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto’s eyes lit up and he clapped loudly. “Yes! Best news ever! Captain and Vice-captain, back together!”

Akaashi’s cheeks flushed at his phrasing but he didn’t deny himself the happiness that came from seeing Bokuto as excited as he felt. Maybe his luck was finally turning around.

* * *

Kuroo carefully selected the best, crispiest barbecued pork strips and placed them on Kenma’s rice with his super long, super fancy metal chopsticks. He sprinkled some green onions over the dish and grinned.

“Dinner’s ready!” he yelled with a flourish and then leaned back to wait for the gremlins to appear.

The first gremlin, Kenma, came padding out from Kuroo’s room where he’d been lazing, playing Smash Bros. on his Switch. Kuroo did not miss the fact Kenma was wearing an oversized hoodie he hadn’t seen in literal months.

“ _You_ had that the whole time?” he said, arching a brow at his best friend.

Kenma glanced up from his phone, then down to the red hoodie he was wearing, and then shrugged. “You left it at my parents’; finder’s keepers.”

“Hm,” Kuroo hummed with narrowed eyes and watched Kenma clamber up onto one of the metal barstools that lined the small kitchen island. This apartment was modern and clean and way too good for him and Bokuto, but the university liked to have their sports team players nearby, so they got a good deal on the rent. Who was Kuroo to complain?

“Rice and meat for my little pork belly,” Kuroo said, pushing one of the bowls over to Kenma.

“Don’t call me that,” Kenma huffed but his eyes did light up at the steaming hot food. He took the proffered chopsticks and tapped them together. “Itadakimasu.”

Kuroo poured himself and Kenma a glass of water, gulping back half of his own in one go.

Bokuto’s bedroom door opened, revealing Kuroo’s roommate clad in his sleep shorts, long socks and hideously old Slam Dunk t-shirt Kuroo was _pretty_ sure he’d seen in Bokuto’s Fukurodani days. Kuroo decided to ignore the nuclear warzone behind Bokuto. The guy’s bedroom was a nightmare even on a good day.

“Food?” Bokuto said, sniffing the air.

“Sit, Inuyasha,” Kuroo pointed to the other bar stool and Bokuto complied happily. "Snuffling around like a dog. Honestly."

“Ah, Kuroo makes the best dinner!” Bokuto hummed, grabbing his own bowl of rice and pork and digging in with gusto.

Kuroo smiled. “Well, our stupid training diet’s insane. We’d go broke trying to order in your protein requirements alone.”

“Hi, Ken-chan,” Bokuto said, turning on his seat to face Kenma. “When did you get here?”

“He got here this morning. Been here all day,” Kuroo sighed. “Don’t you ever listen?”

Bokuto shrugged, unconcerned as he shovelled more rice into his mouth like a road plough clearing the street of three feet of snow, “I dunno. I got in late.”

“You’re a real zombie after games,” Kuroo said, pulling his own bowl close. “You didn’t leave your keys in the door again, did you?”

Bokuto looked up and blinked. He’d come home from the game and dinner with Akaashi the night before and just dived into his bed to sleep off his exhaustion. It was standard protocol: play, eat, bed.

“Yes he did,” Kenma said. “I put them in the bowl earlier.” He nodded at the ugly ceramic dish they kept near the front door. Bokuto had made it in class, declaring it one of his greatest creations. Kuroo thought it was butt-ugly, but it was useful. “They were hanging in the lock this morning when I arrived.”

Kuroo scowled at Bokuto. “You want someone to get in here and kill us in our sleep?”

“Who’s going to kill _you_?” Kenma muttered, implying quite heavily that Kuroo’s life wasn’t worth the effort for any respectable murderer.

“I’d fight them off,” Bokuto said, spraying rice everywhere. “I’d _kill_ them all.” He jabbed his chopsticks in the air.

“Please,” Kuroo said, biting into his pork. “You’d be so freaked out finding a stranger in our home, I’d have to die honourably defending you both because Kenma would also just lie down to accept his fate.”

“Thanks for saving us, Kuroo,” Bokuto grinned. “We love you.”

Kenma kept eating, picking up tiny portions of rice and meat with his chopsticks, like the real picky eater he was. Kuroo found it very endearing, very Kenma.

“Oh,” Bokuto said, pausing his ravenous decimation of his dinner. “Kuroo…” he trailed off, eyes glazing over.

Kuroo waited. He paused his chewing.

Nothing happened.

“Yes?” he prompted.

Bokuto blinked, then shook his head. “Oh, right.” He put his rice bowl down. “Kuroo, you need to move out.”

Kuroo blinked. Had he heard that right? “Haa?” he said loudly, quirking an angry eyebrow.

“You can move in with Kenma!” Bokuto sat up straight, eyes brightening. “Yeah! Now Ken-chan’s bought a fancy new house in Roppongi–“

“For the _last time_ ,” Kenma hissed. “I’m not moving to Roppongi Hills!”

“–and Ken-chan’s your best friend and you two always hang out anyway, it makes sense. You should move out. You _need_ to move out. Quickly.” Bokuto beamed at Kuroo like he’d just handed Kuroo the cure all fatal diseases.

“ _What?_ ” Kuroo said, putting his rice bowl and chopsticks down. “You want me to _move out?_ The fuck, man? What are you talking about? I live _here._ ”

Bokuto deflated a little, his shoulders sloping forward. “You don’t want to?”

“Of course not!” Kuroo cried, annoyed. “Why would I? I’ve lived here for three years and you want to kick _me_ out? Why? If either of us is going, it’s you, pal. Your socks are still stinking up the bathroom after I told you they’d grow sentience if you didn’t wash them. I should be kicking _you_ out.”

Bokuto scratched at his nose, looking unsure. Kuroo was very familiar with the look. It implied Bokuto had taken a misstep somewhere and didn’t know how to get out of whatever corner he’d painted himself into.

“Why,” Kuroo said, breathing in slowly so as to calm himself down, “do you want me to move out?” Sometimes he had to remember that working with Bokuto meant clearly defined communication, explicit terms.

“Because…” Bokuto mumbled out the rest of the sentence, which only made Kuroo angrier.

“Enunciate before I come over there and smack it out of you, bird-boy.” He hissed.

“Because I told Akaashi that he could move in!” Bokuto blurted out, pushing his body away from the counter with both hands, eyes closed. His chair creaked as it angled backwards on two legs. “I’m sorry! I didn’t ask you first! And I just kinda told him he could and now he knows and I can’t tell him I lied, but it’s for a good reason, Kuroo!” He was half-wailing now, his shoulders tight under his ears.

Kuroo was flummoxed, mouth flapping. He looked at Kenma, who just shrugged.

“Why… does Akaashi need to move in?” Kuroo asked.

“You can’t tell him I told you,” Bokuto cried, “but he’s got money issues and he works too much and his stupid small apartment is too far from school and his job and he’s tired, Kuroo. He has shitty roommates! Akaashi, if he lived here, would be closer to all the places he needs to be, _plus_ he can get more rest and not be stressed so much!”

“And then you get to see him more,” Kuroo said drily, face impassive. Bokuto set his chair right and averted his eyes. _Bingo._ “You know that’s selfish as hell,” Kuroo said.

“But, it’s for Akaashi,” Bokuto pouted, his big golden eyes blinking unhappily. “He’s tired and overworked. And he won’t ask his parents for more money, or anyone else for help. He’s stubborn you know? He’s too proud to ask.”

“So you thought I’d just what, jump ship and move in with Kenma?” Kuroo snapped his fingers.

“Wellll, why not?” Bokuto said, shrugging. “’S not like it’s never gonna happen anyway.”

Kuroo rubbed at his eyebrows, wondering how to explain to Bokuto that one did not simply invite oneself over to live with their horribly nouveau-riche best friend in his new fancy house in Tokyo suburbia. At least, that hadn’t been the plan just _yet_. He let his hand drop and his eyes fell to Kenma, who was chewing slowly, watching this unfold.

Kenma blinked at him, swallowed, then shrugged. “You can move in,” he said, like it was _nothing_.

Kuroo blinked, mouth falling open, “I cannot _move in_ with you just because Bokuto’s stupid.”

Bokuto spluttered.

“It’s fine,” Kenma said calmly. “The house has three bedrooms anyway. And if it’s for Akaashi…?” He seemed _so_ unbothered it made Kuroo want to scream. Why was he surrounded by people who literally did not understand, nor care for standard societal expectations of politeness and decency? Not that Kuroo wouldn’t _want_ to move in with Kenma. Initially it had been on the plan when Kenma graduated high school, but then his gaming career had taken off and he ended up staying at his parents’ for a while longer to save up his newfound wealth before jumping into anything major.

“That’s not the point,” Kuroo said. He stared across the room, then frowned. “Are those your shoes lying in a pile by the door again?” he said sharply.

Bokuto turned in his seat, “Yeah.” He said.

“How many times are you going to leave such a mess? You want me to trip on your crap and twist my ankle? You want me to not play because of a busted ankle?”

“Kuroo,” Kenma said. He tilted his head. “Maybe now’s the time to tell him.”

“What?” Kuroo scowled and folded his arms. “No. I’m pissed he’s telling me to move out when he could’ve just _asked_ first. This is so stupid.”

“Kuroo,” Kenma pressed, staring out from his curtain of hair.

“What?” Bokuto said loudly. “What you guys talking about?”

Kuroo ignored his friend.

“Kuroo’s leaving the volleyball team next semester,” Kenma said.

“Kenma!” Kuroo yelled.

“ _What?_ ” Bokuto yelled. He spun to stare at Kuroo, eyes wide. “You’re _leaving?_ Why? What’s happening? Are you sick? Is your dad sick? Are you _dying?_ ”

“See, this is why I didn’t want to tell him,” Kuroo said to Kenma, hand pointing to their now frantic friend.

Bokuto came rushing around the island and grabbed Kuroo’s shoulders. “Kuroo! How long do you have? I can’t think of why you’d ever want to leave our team! We’re so good, we’re going so far! We always wanted to play on the same team! Kuroo! We’re the ace team, _Kuroo!_ ” He wailed, eyes welling up, and wrapped himself around Kuroo, squeezing tight.

“Oof, stop,” Kuroo grunted. “You’re crushing me with your ham arms.”

“But what would make you _leave?”_ Bokuto wailed into Kuroo’s shoulder. “Is it _me?_ Is it because I beaned you in the head too many times?”

“Stop!” Kuroo said, “I’m not leaving because I don’t want to play anymore. It’s more complicated than that. Coach doesn’t know yet.” Bokuto was squeezing so hard, Kuroo figured he had five minutes before he ran out of space in his lungs for oxygen. “I’m leaving because I got a job.”

Bokuto pulled back and blinked wetly at him. “A _job?_ What?” He sounded horrified. To Bokuto, a job probably did sound like a terrible reason to do anything.

Kuroo sighed and patted his friend’s cheek. “Go sit down, you dumb bird. Keep eating. It’s a whole thing.”

“You’re not dying of some alien virus? You’re not leaving ‘cos you hate me?”

“No.”

“…Okay.” He stepped back, wiped his nose, and shuffled over to his seat.

Once Bokuto was settled again, Kuroo explained. “You know my part-time gig with the Tokyo Tech athletics division?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, Nekomata-sensei hooked me up with some meetings and I got to sit in on some stuff, meet new people. And, well,” he rubbed at his hair. “They opened up a spot for me at the National Volleyball Association. It’s not some stupid temp job, it’s in the business development department. The real deal.”

“Huh?” Bokuto said.

“Business stuff,” Kenma said, tapping away at his phone. Whatever game he was playing bleeped. “Like what he’s studying at school.”

“Oh,” Bokuto said. “So… you’re going to stop _playing_ volleyball and start… businessing volleyball?” He looked very confused.

“Pretty much,” Kuroo chuckled. “Something like that. It’s a step up in the administration, something I’d never have a chance at, not at my age. I can’t see myself _just_ playing volleyball, when I could be in the system making things better. I hope. I mean, I wanna try, you know?”

“Well, can’t you do your job _and_ play?”

“Not while I’m still in school, Bokuto,” Kuroo’s gaze softened. Explaining this to Kenma had been easy because Kenma had been with him all the way. But Bokuto didn’t have any interest in Kuroo’s studies, or anything outside of volleyball really, so this was probably right out of left field. It’s why Kuroo wanted to wait, at least until the winter break.

“Wow,” Bokuto said, looking down at his now empty bowl. “You’re really an adult now, huh? Making big choices and doing big things.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Kenma muttered.

Kuroo rubbed both hands through his messy hair. “Okay, look. We’ve got two things to figure out. Maybe they’re happening at the same time for a reason.”

He went to grab Bokuto’s bowl and filled it up with more rice and the remaining pork in the pan. “Here.” He slid the food over, watching Bokuto’s eyes light up.

Kuroo moved closer to Kenma and rested his elbow on the island counter, then his chin in his palm. He stared at his adorable, tiny, best friend. “You really want me to move in? That offer was for real? And don’t lie to me.”

Kenma looked up. “Yes,” he said, plain and clear as ever. "You can move in as long as you don't make me go outside like my mom used to."

Kuroo pushed his lips out like a duck, considering. He slid his eyes over to look at Bokuto. The man had rice grains stuck to his cheek. “Fine,” he muttered and got to his feet. “I guess if it’s Akaashi, I might as well let this happen. I'm very gracious, you see. Maybe he’ll do a better job of looking after you, you overgrown baby.”

Bokuto blinked at him, then grinned, mouth full of food.

“Kurhooaa!” he said.

“I know, I know,” Kuroo waved his friend off before the guy decided to leap over the counter and tackle him with love. “I’m amazing, beyond compare, and a truly great friend.” Bokuto nodded emphatically. “I guess this is happening.” He smiled at Kenma, whose mouth lifted up at the side. Kuroo sighed, defeated. “So when is Akaashi supposed to move in?”

“Touhh whee,” Bokuto said, then swallowed painfully, eyes crossing a little. He coughed. “Two weeks.”

Kuroo’s mouth fell open.

“ _What?_ Are you fucking _kidding me_?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the time of writing, the names of Bokuto's sisters were not available, so I made them up. If they come to light one day, I might update this. :)
> 
> Also, this chapter is a BEAST compared to the last one.

> **Kuroo  
>  **I love him like a brother, you know this, but I’m gunna kill him
> 
> **Kenma  
>  **No u won’t. Chicken. 🐔
> 
> **Kuroo  
>  **He just asked me to do one last load of HIS LAUNDRY before I move out!!!!!!
> 
> **Kenma  
>  **That’s nice. Your parting gift.
> 
> **Kuroo  
>  **KENMA you’re not listening!!! Pay attention to meeeee
> 
> **Kenma  
>  **bwok bwok 🐣
> 
> **Kuroo  
>  **…  
>  you’re lucky you’re cute
> 
> **Kenma  
>  **Yeah :)

* * *

“Typical, the idiot’s not even here to help us move,” Kuroo griped. He eyed Akaashi, who had placed another overstuffed bag in the doorway of what was now his new bedroom.

“He has to stick to his class schedule,” Akaashi said, standing up. “Or else it messes him up before his volleyball practice.” He looked around. He had brought his rolled up futon just in case Kuroo changed his mind about taking the mattress off the bed that came with the unit.

Kuroo’s mouth twisted. “Well, at least you didn’t have a ton of shit to move. One upside to all of this mess.”

They’d spent the morning getting Akaashi’s measly belongings into the van and across the city in a timely fashion. Then they’d started swapping goods, taking Kuroo’s belongings downstairs while Akaashi unpacked what he had into his new home. They had been very fortunate because even though Bokuto was unavailable, his replacements more than made up for it in his absence.

“Keiji-kun, you have so many books!” a young woman came through the front door of the apartment and dropped a small box of books on the kitchen island counter. She wiped at her forehead, sweeping her bangs aside. Her long grey hair was braided and wrapped around her head to keep it out of the way.

“Oh, you didn’t have to bring that up, Kyou-san,” Akaashi said. “It’s enough that you and Sayaka-san could help with transport today. Lifting heavy boxes is unnecessary.”

“Oh, whatever,” Bokuto Kyou waved him off. “Anything for you.”

“Eurgh,” her sister stepped through the door, twirling her keys around her index finger. “When Koutarou shows his face, you better make sure he helps you put your stuff away _and_ pack up these boxes,” she griped. “Lazy bum. He should take this stuff down to recycling.” Sayaka had bobbed hair and was wearing denim overalls under her winter jacket and sturdy work boots on her feet.

Akaashi smiled and nodded. “I will, yes.”

Bokuto, feeling bad about having to miss moving day, had done the only thing he could think of: called in his sisters’ help.

They were both older than him but the resemblance was uncanny. All three of the Bokuto siblings had the same golden eyes and glossy grey hair they’d inherited from their mother. Where they differed came in temperament (from their father). Sayaka, the oldest, was unyielding and strong-willed, the first-born and the most responsible. Kyou, the middle child, was more acquiescent, willing to wave off any mild irritation in a second. She seemed easy-going but Akaashi knew better than to assume that was all she was.

Akaashi had known them both since high school. He hadn’t been very surprised to find out Bokuto was the youngest in the family. Even though he towered over both his sisters, he was well loved and still treated like the baby, requiring attention and affection most of the time. It kind of made sense.

The Bokuto family was warm and friendly and _loud_ , very unlike his own. Akaashi’s parents were more reserved, and certainly doted on him, but not the way the Bokuto family members did with each other. They could be a bit stifling, if he was honest, with their loud proclamations, overzealous hugs, and idiotic arguments.

“Oi, Kuroo,” Kyou said, pointing a finger at the man in question. “You owe us beers for lugging your stuff too. Don’t think I’ll forget.” She grinned and winked.

“Yeah, yeah,” Kuroo sighed. “I won’t.”

“C’mon,” Sayaka said, “let’s get your stupid sports shit downstairs before my back gives out.”

“Oh, nee-san is _so_ old,” Kuroo laughed and moved to help her with his pile of volleyball kit. “Gotta cash in your old-age pension soon, huh?”

“Watch your mouth or I’ll have a word with your sister,” Sayaka snapped.

That shut Kuroo up. _His_ older sister, unlike the Bokuto’s, was almost the same height as Kuroo and didn’t take any nonsense from anyone, especially not her mouthy younger brother.

“Oi, Kenma, we’re almost finished, okay? Pack your crap,” Kuroo yelled over his shoulder.

“‘Kay,” Kenma said from somewhere inside Akaashi’s bedroom. Kuroo and Sayaka disappeared out the front door, loaded down in volleyball gear.

Kyou wandered around the apartment while Akaashi opened up one of his book boxes. Admittedly, he hadn’t needed a moving company to shift his very minimal belongings from his previous rental, but using Sayaka’s company van had been better than lugging stuff through the subway multiple times.

“Hmm,” Kyou hummed as she leaned into Bokuto’s bedroom. “I see Kou-kun still lives like a cave troll. Phew, smells in here.” She backed out of the room, waving a hand in front of her face. She grinned that iconic Bokuto grin and sauntered over to Akaashi. “It’s nice you’re moving in, Kei-kun.”

“Mh-hm,” Akaashi nodded, “very lucky timing.”

“I’ll say,” Kyou hummed, leaning against the kitchen counter and watching him pull out book after book.

Akaashi glanced at her. The Bokuto sisters were quite a duo. Each had wildly successful careers in the Tokyo financial sector, and made both their parents (and younger brother) very proud. “Bokuto-san tells me you were promoted recently; congratulations.”

Kyou smiled, “Oh, _thank you_ ; That’s sweet.” She smiled. “It was something I _definitely_ deserved.”

Akaashi blinked.

“I work with a lot of egotistical men who cannot work a pivot table to save their lives,” she said. “No one can balance the books like me. Pretty soon they’ll be kicking the CFO to the curb and it’ll be my turn at the wheel.” She sounded almost hungry at the thought, her eyes glowing.

“Ah, well, that’s good,” Akaashi said. Bokuto Kyou was not a woman he would ever want to mess with, no matter how petite and demure she seemed.

“And how have you been, Kei-kun?” she said. “We never see you anymore. Koutarou says you’re working yourself to death, editing books, newspapers, or something.”

Akaashi smiled, “I’m good. Keeping my head above water. I’m an editorial intern at a manga publisher. It’s not too bad.” It wasn’t _exactly_ what he wanted (not focused on Japanese literature) but it was a step in some kind of direction, he supposed.

“Hmm, you do look a little tired. But still, flawless,” she stepped up to him and stared into his eyes. She was about a foot shorter, so she had to crane her neck back. “I’m so jealous of your skin, Keiji-kun. You have to tell me your skincare routine. What do you use? Retinols? Vitamin C? The blood of virgins?”

Akaashi blinked and blushed, “Ah, I don’t do anything at all with my… skin.” He squirmed. This happened a lot. Guys and girls liked to get into his personal space and comment on his face, his hair, his eyes, his mouth. It had started early on, way back in middle school and it was frustrating to realize it wasn’t stopping any time soon. Even his previous roommates had made comments, saying he must spend hours in the bathroom perfecting what they called his ‘runway’ looks. It made Akaashi very uncomfortable. He didn’t do anything special to his body outside of eating well and exercising.

“Oh, sorry,” Kyou stepped back and grinned. “I’m not trying to be a creep. Kou says you get a lot of creeps all over you.”

“He said _what?_ ” Akaashi blinked.

“I get it,” She nodded, “You’re cute. I’ll bet girls can’t stay away. You always were super handsome. I remember the first time Kou-kun brought you home for dinner.” She smiled, “Mom was smitten. And you were so polite!” She laughed. “Little Keiji-kun with his pleases and _thank-you_ s, ah, a lifetime ago.” She sounded wistful.

“Uh,” Akaashi said, getting back to his books. He also had no idea what to say to these kinds of things. Kyou was eyeing the random assortment of fruit sitting on the island counter.

A shuffling sound behind him made Akaashi glance over his shoulder.

“Oh, Kenma-kun!” Kyou brightened up when she saw who had appeared. “I thought you were going to hide all day! I haven’t seen you in _forever._ ”

“Hi,” Kenma muttered, coming to stand behind Akaashi. Akaashi frowned.

“Oh?” Kyou leaned to the side and smiled. “Still hiding, huh? Even the famous Kodzuken gets shy, I suppose.”

“Mrrr,” Kenma grumbled.

“The two of you are so cute,” Kyou laughed. “We used to joke about it, about why you were friends with Koutarou and Tetsurou. Those two idiots definitely needed you two to balance out their stupid.”

Akaashi felt a hand in the back of his shirt. Kenma hated the Bokuto sisters’ attention even more than most, it seemed. It was rare to find him avoiding someone this diligently. Usually Kenma had no qualms about telling people to get lost.

“Well, if you want to hide, that’s fine by me!” Kyou chuckled. “I’m not getting’ paid to socialize.”

“Oh, Kyou-san,” Akaashi pulled his wallet out of his jeans pocket. “That reminds me. Payment, for the van and the help.”

“What?” she blinked her wide eyes at him in the exact same way Bokuto did when he didn’t understand what was going on.

Akaashi held out a wad of money, “Thank you again for assisting today. I know it was last minute and very frustrating, so here.”

Kyou laughed, her head thrown back. “No! Keiji-kun, no! I’m not taking you _money_ , silly. We’re doing this not just because Koutarou asked. We’re doing it to help _you._ Our pleasure.” She pushed his hand away.

“What’s our pleasure?” Sayaka came tromping through the apartment door, dusting her hands off on her overalls.

“Keiji’s trying to pay us.”

Sayaka frowned, “No.” She sounded like she’d brook no argument. Her knitted hat had white bits clinging to it. Akaashi glanced out the window. It was snowing.

“Honestly, Keiji-kun, it’s fine,” Kyou said, “you’re practically family. The amount of times we’ve had to sit at the dinner table and listen to Kou-kun go on and on about how great you are…” she shook her head. “And _you,_ ” She leaned around Akaashi. “You gotta come out sometime, little one.”

Kenma’s grip on Akaashi’s shirt got tighter.

“Oh, is that the great Kozume himself?” Sayaka said loudly. Akaashi wondered if it was a genetic trait, the loudness. She came around the other side of the island, through the kitchen to Akaashi’s other side. “I was wondering where you were, kid. There’s never a Kuroo without a Kenma.”

“Don’t,” Kenma snarled, which made Akaashi’s eyebrows fly up on his forehead. “Don’t _tickle_ me,” Kenma hissed. There were two hands now curling into the fabric of Akaashi’s shirt.

The Bokuto sisters grinned. “We won’t,” Kyou said. “Trust us.”

“That’s what you said last time,” Kenma muttered.

“What’s going on here?” Kuroo said lazily, walking into the apartment, scratching at his hair. Wet droplets spattered as he ruffled the wet strands. “Ken _ma_ , they won’t bite.” He rolled his eyes.

“Eep!” Kenma shrieked as Sayaka lunged for him. He bolted away from Akaashi, seeking shelter behind Kuroo who was much wider and taller, and afforded a better barrier it seemed.

“Ladies, ladies,” Kuroo said in a mockingly stern voice. “Kenma’s not a plaything. We have a hard enough time getting Bokuto to understand that. He’s only recently stopped lugging Kenma around like a sack of rice.”

“He’s so cute, though!” Kyou laughed. She and her sister were now leaning against Akaashi, one on either arm.

“Scaredy-cat,” Sayaka chuckled.

“Not scared,” Kenma muffled from somewhere behind Kuroo. Kuroo’s oversized sweater was shifting, riding up his belly.

“Oi, kitten, whoa, calm down now,” Kuroo said.

“You know it’s probably best if Koutarou lives with Keiji-kun after all,” Sayaka said drolly. “At least Keiji-kun knows how to keep a tidy home and cook good food.”

“Hey!” Kuroo cried, still wriggling around. “I cook! I clean!”

The sisters both looked over at the atrocity that was Bokuto’s room.

“That’s his space!” Kuroo snapped. “I’m not cleaning his stinky-ass bedroom. Akaashi’s not gonna either, right?”

The Bokuto sisters peered up at Akaashi. Most people were intimidated by them. Akaashi wasn’t. He found their air of pushy nosiness to be quite refreshing. “Bokuto-san is allowed to keep his own room as he sees fit,” he murmured.

“Oh, Kei-kun,” Kyou sighed, flopping against him. “We need you to make sure he’s okay out here. Mom’s always worried because he’s an idiot, you know?”

“Bokuto-san’s not an idiot,” Akaashi said. “He just has different priorities.”

“ _Volleyball_ ,” Sayaka said, “always volleyball.”

Akaashi nodded and extricated himself from their grabbing hands. “He’s fine. Has been this entire time.”

Akaashi looked up to get affirmation from Kuroo and instead was faced with the vision of Kuroo standing with his elbows out, his sweater completely distended by the lumpy form of Kenma hiding inside it, against his chest. Kenma really did hate company sometimes.

“Bokuto’s your problem now,” Kuroo grinned like a cat.

Akaashi shrugged, not bothered in the least. He eyed Kenma’s form under Kuroo’s sweater. Better Bokuto than whatever was happening over there.

* * *

“You’re back early,” Akaashi murmured as a whirlwind of grey hair and sweaty volleyball gear whooshed through the front door.

“Tadaima!” Bokuto kicked off his sneakers and dropped his gym bag on the sofa. “Yeah, Noriaki-senpai got mad at Suzuna and Kameha because they were being idiots and brained coach in the face.” He peeled off his socks and draped them over his shoulder for some unholy reason. “Coach got a bloody nose, which made Noriaki go ballistic. So the rest of us got to leave early. Cool, huh?”

“I see,” Akaashi said. He eyed the shoes on the floor, the gym bag spilling over the sofa and then the socks on Bokuto’s shoulder. He pointed his knife at Bokuto, “Don’t you come any closer.”

Bokuto paused, “Shower?”

“Please,” Akaashi said.

“‘Kay,” Bokuto said and immediately headed for the bathroom. “Hey,” he turned before shutting the door. “You wanna do a movie night? Hinata messaged and said there’s this new sports comedy streaming.”

“Sure,” Akaashi smiled.

Bokuto grinned and shut the door with a “Whoop!”

Akaashi shook his head. He’d been living in the apartment for just over three weeks and it had been such a transformative experience. He now had more time to move between his many daily obligations, which was a massive relief. He no longer had to rush to catch a train for school in the morning and he didn’t have to cram his homework in late into the night while juggling his part-time internship workload. He even had an extra twenty minutes each day to wander freely. Sometimes he would go pick up some groceries, and other days he would simply walk around, enjoying the city he’d grown up in. This was his favourite time of year, when the snow muffled the sounds of the traffic and the busy bodies rushing to and fro. He was also blessed to come home to two less roommates than before. His only decent former roommate had texted, updating him on the antics of the two morons he’d left behind in his old apartment. Akaashi felt bad ducking out so suddenly, but when an opportunity like a modern, clean apartment near school came up as something affordable, he wasn’t going to miss it. And rooming with Bokuto had, so far, been really good.

Bokuto also had an insane schedule, running to the top-floor gym in their building in the morning, before dashing off to classes, then his volleyball training. He trained six days a week, unless they had a game on Thursday, in which case, he’d get Friday to Sunday off as a bonus. It was becoming quite normal for one or both of them to blast past each other, coming and going to their next appointments.

The only time they really saw one another was in the late evenings. Akaashi was usually in his room working away when Bokuto came in after practise and they’d have a little while to talk or catch up.

It was nice. As rushed as he was, it was better than his life prior to this arrangement. Akaashi, without fail, would get a whoosh in his belly whenever Bokuto came home. He had the chance to see him every day if he wanted and Bokuto seemed just as pleased. They were a dynamic duo, after all, so it made sense that they could live together fairly well.

Akaashi was going to have to do something about Bokuto’s lazy habits though.

He put down his knife and walked over to the front door, picking up Bokuto’s shoes and placing them by the wall. He hummed. They could do with better storage. Bokuto had a lot of shoes, mostly wild-coloured volleyball sneakers, of course - but no real place to put them.

It would take a while before Akaashi stopped seeing this place as _Bokuto’s_ home and eventually see it as his own too. He had plans, you see.

He pulled Bokuto’s gym bag off the couch and eyed the gear inside. He wanted to throw the lot in the laundry basket they kept in the bathroom, but knew it wasn’t his place to meddle. He went to put the bag just inside Bokuto’s bedroom, beside the door.

The bedroom… well, that was another issue Akaashi was going to have to accept, much in the way Kuroo must have done. It was horrible; the bed never made, sheets peeling off the mattress, pillows strewn about. Clothing was lying on every available surface and a couple glasses sat on the floor beside the bed, probably germinating congealed protein shakes. Akaashi made a quick decision and _did_ go grab those, if not for his sake, then at least for Bokuto’s.

They had a _dishwasher_ for crying out loud!

He put the glasses in said dishwasher and made a mental note to deal with his own laundry after dinner.

By the time the shower in the bathroom turned off, Akaashi was back at the kitchen island.

The bathroom door opened and Bokuto exhaled loudly though a massive cloud of vapour. “Phew, much better!” he said.

Akaashi looked up and almost swallowed his tongue. Bokuto was still damp from his shower, water droplets dripping down his arms and chest. He was wearing a towel around his trim waist and struggling to knot it so it would stay in place.

Akaashi needed to breathe. He’d seen Bokuto naked a million times already. You didn’t join a high school boys’ volleyball team and come out of it _not_ having seen all your teammates’ dicks. It was part and parcel with the job.

Thing is, _this_ Bokuto was taller, older and bigger all over. Puberty had done wonders for Bokuto over the years, filling him out in all the right places. At sixteen, Akaashi had assumed his crush couldn’t get any worse, but he’d been very, very wrong. Looking back, how could sixteen year-old Akaashi ever have known?

He’d always assumed his attraction to his friend was something he’d deal with eventually, get better at handling over time. He always did well, pushing it back down, hiding it from the rest of the world. But having Bokuto walking around half naked _like that_ , well, it was a lot.

“What’chu makin’?” Bokuto asked, combing his fingers through his wet hair. He came closer, intrigued.

 _God_ , Bokuto looked good. He was _large_ and firm and his muscles were so well-defined, so smooth and sinuous on his form it made Akaashi frown angrily at his idiotic libido.

“Ah,” he faltered and looked down at his knife. “Danmuji.”

“Oh, really?” Bokuto’s eyes widened. “From scratch?”

Akaashi looked up and nodded, again a little transfixed by Bokuto’s thick arms.

“Your mom teach you that?” Bokuto asked. “That’s so cool.”

“Well,” Akaashi cleared his throat and refocused on what he was doing. “It’s pretty simple. I should show you one day.”

“Akaashi’s so talented,” Bokuto grinned. “Oops, I’m dripping on the floor. Yikes.” He turned to hop back toward his bedroom. “You’ll let me have some when it’s ready, right?” he yelled.

“Of course,” Akaashi blushed, wondering why _that_ made him feel soft inside. He cut the daikon swiftly, the chop-chop of the knife on the wooden board easing his mind a little. It was repetitive and soothing, something he could do in his sleep.

When he’d first moved out, his parents had gifted him a few things: a sturdy satchel, a grocery gift card they could refill (he hadn’t asked for it, yet found a small sum added to the account every month or two), and his own set of quality chef’s knives.

He loved these knives and looked after them like they were his children. He sharpened each blade regularly and washed them by hand so the hand-carved wooden handles didn’t get ruined in the dishwasher. They were something his parents had said every adult needed: good knives to make good food, because good food was crucial to living a happy life. That made sense to him.

Akaashi smiled as he fitted the chopped strips of radish into three glass lunch boxes - the only things they seemed to have with secure, air-tight lids. His mother always made her danmuji, made all their food, really. He’d grown up lucky, having quality meals served to him every day. Now that he was older, he could appreciate the effort his mother had put into making those meals for him and his father for all those years.

“You think your mom’s gonna come visit you here, ever?” Bokuto said, jarring Akaashi out of his thoughts. The other man walked out of his bedroom, in sweatpants, and still pulling a loose shirt over his head. Akaashi watched the play of stomach muscles under Bokuto’s skin as he moved. It was mesmerizing. Bokuto probably had no idea how good he looked. His physique plagued Akaashi at night. He was never, ever going to admit how many evenings he’d spent scrolling through his friends’ many instagram feeds, looking at photos of Bokuto.

“Ah, maybe,” Akaashi shrugged. He moved to the stove and brought over a small pot and began pouring the pickling broth he’d been making since he got home.

Bokuto’s head popped free of his shirt’s neckline and was immediately captivated by Akaashi’s work. He slid onto a bar stool, eyes wide. “That smells so good ‘Kaashi.”

Akaashi smiled, splitting the juice between the three glass dishes before dumping the pot in the tiny sink. He made sure the strips of radish were all submerged before snapping a lid onto each dish, stacking them, and sliding them into the fridge. “Should be good by tomorrow. I’ll have you taste test for me.”

“Yay!” Bokuto cheered. He was pink-cheeked from his shower and his unruly hair flopped in pointed chunks above his forehead. Akaashi had learned a few years ago that Bokuto got his hair styling techniques from Kuroo, back when they were high school freshman hell-bent on being the ‘coolest dudes ever!’

Akaashi wondered how much of the height in Bokuto’s follicles was due to genetics and how much was due to hair gel. His hair looked soft when it was dry. Maybe one day Akaashi would know. For science, of course.

* * *

The ball flew through the air and Bokuto’s eyes were on it, his next heartbeat tied to his next breath.

“Left!” Suna-san yelled, going in for the set and Bokuto could see it already, the jump, the smash, the point. He stuck his tongue out the side of his mouth and moved automatically, leaping high into the air, trusting that Suna-san would send it his way.

The ball arced through the air toward him and Bokuto swung his arm down, seeing the tiniest gap between the blockers’ wrists. It was tight, but he could do it.

He smashed the ball and exhaled hard. The ball blasted over the net and slammed almost completely flat when it hit the court, bouncing off, too fast for their opponents to stop.

A whistle blew and the flag flashed.

“Yes!” Suna-san yelled, punching the air. He leapt for Bokuto, who caught him easily. The rest of the team barrelled in as well and they became a mess of limbs and yells and slaps. Bokuto felt the rush of glory, the sheer exhilaration of victory thrumming through him again. It was this high that he chased, the joy he craved.

When his teammates tried to climb over one another, Bokuto laughed, doing his best to remain upright. He stumbled, arms full of at least two players.

“We won! We won!” Takeuchi was bouncing up and down, his reverse white and blue libero uniform bright against Bokuto’s blue and white.

Bokuto jumped up, his arms full, and yelled, “Hey, hey, _hey!”_

“Nicely done, team,” Noriaki said, tapping each of his players on the top of the head. “Really, really well done.” He looked exhausted and red in the face, the sweat coating every square inch of visible skin.

Bokuto was sweating up a storm as well and he felt _amazing_. He let his teammates drop to their feet. His every muscle was taut and vibrating from the effort he’d just expended trying to get his team that win. One step closer to glory. The team dispersed a little, giving Bokuto room to breathe.

“Oh,” Kuroo wailed, flopping his arm around Bokuto’s shoulders, “I’m so tired. We deserved this.”

“We’re amazing!” Bokuto yelled, wrapping his arms around Kuroo’s tiny waist and turning on the spot. The crowd yipped and howled and clapped at their win. “We’re the best! No one comes close!”

“Oi, you two, shake,” their coach barked from the sideline, “Don’t forget your manners.”

Bokuto immediately spun back to the net, dropping Kuroo to his feet, and went over to shake hands with their opponents, making sure to compliment their ace on his technique, and asking their wing spiker if he was willing to spill the details on that fancy signature swipe he’d used in the second set.

“Amazing, amazing,” Bokuto said, shaking the captain’s hand. “You guys were great! What a game!”

“Er,” the captain looked a little weirded out, but then again, he’d just lost the game that could have gotten them into the next round. Bokuto had _some_ sympathy. “Thanks…?”

“You were all admirable opponents!” Bokuto barked, hands on hips. “Thank you!”

“Bokuto!” their coach barked. “Stop misbehaving!”

“I’m not!” Bokuto twirled on his heel to answer. He caught sight of the crowds. So many people were on their feet, clapping and cheering wildly. There were even a couple banners held up and waving in the air. Bokuto’s chest swelled.

“Number four!” a trio of girls squealed, jumping up and down. Bokuto waved at them, grinning like mad. The girls shrieked and flapped their arms a little harder.

“You think the recruiters are here?” Kuroo said, leaning in.

“Dunno!” Bokuto waved at a couple familiar faces in the crowd.

“I heard they were planning to send out a few for this game,” Kuroo went on. He was wiping his face with the bottom of his shirt again. Bokuto was always tempted to smack those abs real hard whenever Kuroo flashed his sweaty belly like that. He’d grown up enough to not do that anymore - in public anyway.

“Look at all the fans,” Bokuto beamed, hands on hips. He soaked up this feeling, these eyes on him. He loved amping up the crowd and he loved it even more when they got as excited for the win as he did. It never got old.

“Are you even listening?” Kuroo sighed loudly. He pushed at Bokuto, trying to steer him to their bench. “This could be the day you get into V-league.”

“I’m _definitely_ getting into V-league!” Bokuto yelled. “Guaranteed!”

“Oh my god,” Kuroo said, exasperated. Bokuto gratefully took a towel from one of the managers. He wiped at his face and hair. He really _had_ sweat up a storm in the game. It was the lights, the indoor heating. It was always different playing in winter. The buildings were drier, warmer. He supposed they were lucky their university had a dedicated volleyball court at all.

He wiped at his neck, eyes skimming the crowd. He searched and searched, trying to find…

“Oh,” he said, blinking. He turned to Kuroo, “Akaashi’s not here.”

“Oh, really?” Kuroo was squirting water from a water bottle onto his hair. “Kenma’s here.” He pointed, blinking awkwardly as the droplets dribbled over his face. “For once. That brat.”

Bokuto squinted. Dang, Kenma was so small it was difficult to spot him, especially when he slouched into his hoodie like that. Bokuto stared at the people around Kenma.

“No Akaashi,” he said slowly, feeling his heart sink.

“Maybe he’s working late?” Kuroo said, handing Bokuto his bag. “Come on, we gotta shower. You stink.”

“But…” Bokuto frowned.

“Move,” Captain Noriaki said. “We played late. The women gotta play too, you know. Hustle.”

“But…” Bokuto got chivvied off the court and away from the full, yet somehow empty stadium seats.

* * *

“What’s wrong?” Kenma said, looking up at Bokuto with those sharp eyes of his. He was so short and so petite, sometimes Bokuto wanted to just slip him into his chest pocket and take him on a tour of Tokyo. “You look weird, Bokuto.”

“I am,” Bokuto said, tightening his scarf around his neck. He felt better after having showered and grabbed a quick snack after the game, but he still felt a little off-kilter. “Not weird,” he corrected. “Maybe a little. But more sad.”

“Why?” Kenma blinked from within the depths of his many winter layers and floppy wool hat. “You guys won. You’re usually unbearable after a win. Kuroo is.” He pointed to his best friend who was preoccupied with his phone.

“Excuse _you_ ,” Kuroo said from behind Kenma. They were waiting on the Ikebukuro train platform, the chilly night air still ghosting around them, even inside the station. “I am charming all the time, win or lose.”

“Unbearable,” Kenma said.

“I don’t know,” Bokuto sighed. “I’m happy we won; yeah, happy. But I feel weird inside. It’s like I just noticed something and I don’t like it.”

“You realized...?” Kenma blinked slowly.

“That the world is flat and if you bounce a ball hard enough, it could fly into space and hit an alien?” Kuroo said.

“What?” Bokuto frowned, “No?” _Damn, Kuroo is a dork._ He shifted and tucked his hands into his jacket pockets. “I just–you know how much I love the energy, the fans, the winning?”

“Yes,” Kenma nodded.

Bokuto shrugged, “I love to see the crowds and get them hype. I love that so much. I feel like a superstar.”

“Uh-huh,” Kuroo looked up from his phone.

“Yeah,” Bokuto said, “but not having Akaashi there kinda bummed me out. He wasn’t watching us, and he wasn’t going to come over and say ‘good job’ and I got all sad inside. Can’t explain it.”

“Hm, interesting,” Kenma said. He didn’t _sound_ interested. Far from it.

“You don’t get enough attention from your adoring fans?” Kuroo said.

“I was there,” Kenma said. “I’m a fan.”

“I know, but it’s not the _same_ , Ken-ken,” Bokuto whined, tilting his head back. “When it’s Akaashi, it just hits different, you know?”

“Is that because he’s special?” Kuroo said with a smirk. Kenma kicked his shin. _“Ow,_ must you injure me daily? I’m gonna bruise. _”_

“He is special!” Bokuto perked up.

“So you love him?” Kuroo said. Kenma kicked him again.

Bokuto grinned, “I do. I love all my friends! I love you guys too!” he held his arms out, expressing the size of his love.

“No, but like–“ Kuroo restarted and again, Kenma kicked him. “Kenma!”

“Don’t,” Kenma hissed.

“Don’t what?” Bokuto blinked between his two friends.

The train whistled into the station, ruffling their scarves and coats. Bokuto followed his friends onto the train. They got a spot by the doors so Kenma could stand between Bokuto and Kuroo, protected from the eyes of strangers. He was such a weirdo. Bokuto didn’t get it.

“Don’t _what?_ ” Bokuto pressed.

Kuroo sighed. “You missed Akaashi and you said the joy of being centre of attention doesn’t mean as much if Akaashi isn’t there, right?”

“Yeah?” Bokuto blinked.

“So…” Kuroo waved his hand in the air and grabbed onto the top handrail. The train got going. “You don’t think there’s a reason for that?”

“Reason?” Bokuto paused to consider that. “I don’t understand.”

“He’s saying you like Akaashi’s attention, specifically,” Kenma said sharply, clearly frustrated with Bokuto’s inability to comprehend anything. “You like him!”

“Well, duh!” Bokuto rolled his eyes. “ _Everybody_ likes Akaashi.”

“No, look,” Kuroo rubbed at his eyes. “Here, try this. Who’s the most perfect person in the world?”

“The world?” Bokuto considered his options before saying, “My mom!” He grinned. His mom was perfect. She was smart and funny and pretty and knew how to make his favourite meals depending on his mood, and she _always_ listened to his rambling thoughts with no judgement. She was the _best._

“Oh for the– _no_ ,” Kuroo sighed loudly. “Apart from your own mother, _damn_ –Kenma, help.”

“Okay, Bokuto,” Kenma was rocking on his feet as the train rolled into the next station. He reached out to grab at Kuroo’s elbow. “When you look at Akaashi, what do you think?”

“I think he’s Akaashi,” Bokuto grinned. “The best Akaashi in the world and the best setter. Oh, I wish he was on the team with us! He always throws the best tosses. No one can toss like Akaashi.”

“Please stay on topic,” Kenma said drily like he was coercing a child to recite his times tables. “So you like him.”

“I already said that.”

“Yeah, but if you let me finish–“ Kenma huffed.

Bokuto made a face. “What are you guys _talking_ about? Is there a point here? You’re making a mole out of a freckle.”

“A what now?” Kuroo frowned, genuinely confused.

“The point _is_ ,” Kenma pressed on, “that maybe you miss Akaashi the most because Akaashi is your favourite person on earth–apart from your mom.”

“Hm,” Bokuto tapped his finger against his lips. “Maybe.” It wasn’t a stretch, really.

“Maybe?” Kuroo said slowly. “This isn’t a revelation?”

“Should it be?” Bokuto said. “I like Akaashi because he’s my friend. My favourite friend. The way Kenma is your favourite friend.”

“Well…”

“Exactly,” Kenma cut in. “Think about Akaashi again. You ever just look at him? Like, _really_ look at him? What does that feel like? What’s it like now you guys live together? When you come home?”

Bokuto frowned. He tilted his head and thought of Akaashi with his inky hair that curled at the ends, and his pretty, pretty eyes with those long dark eyelashes that seemed so unreal sometimes Bokuto wanted to touch them. He’d always thought Akaashi had such a nice neck and a smooth deep voice. Akaashi was special. Every time Bokuto came home to him now, it was like getting a fresh burst of energy. Even if Akaashi was making tea or reading on the sofa, it was as if he were a fireworks festival all on his own, right in Bokuto’s home.

“Yeah,” he said wistfully. “Akaashi is beautiful. The prettiest.”

Kenma blinked, then glanced up at Kuroo.

“He is!” Bokuto insisted. “Everyone says so. Your Inuoka used to agree with me, you know.”

“Inuoka?” Kuroo spluttered. “Really? _Our Inuoka?”_ He whipped out his cellphone with a grin. “I did not know this. Yaku will love _that_ update. He still worries about his children, you know.”

“So you think Akaashi is beautiful?” Kenma said slowly. “And he’s your favourite person. And you miss him when he’s not around?”

“Yeah! You got it, Ken-ken!” Bokuto grinned.

Kenma exhaled. “Bokuto, you like him. You _like_ -like him. I can’t believe I have to say it like this.”

“Eh?” Bokuto frowned.

“Here,” Kuroo looked up from gleefully typing on his phone. “Put it this way: Koutarou, when’s the last time you got laid?”

Bokuto screwed up his face. “Uhhhh…?”

“Exactly,” Kuroo said.

“I play too much volleyball,” Bokuto said honestly. “Girls take time. What’s that got to do with stuff?”

“Tell me about it,” Kuroo sighed. “So it’s been a while. You don’t seem super invested in dating these days. What about Akaashi? Does he date?”

Bokuto blinked, all wide-eyed. “I dunno.” He hadn’t thought about it, actually. If he wasn’t thinking about his own dating life, why would he think of anyone else’s? Though… Akaashi dating? Hm. That sounded fake. Bokuto couldn’t remember Akaashi ever talking about girls. Although… “Hey, isn’t Valentine’s day coming up?” he grinned wide. “I love Valentine’s day, especially with Akaashi.”

“Huh?” both Kuroo and Kenma looked confused again. “In, like two months?”

“Oh, haha!” Bokuto laughed boisterously. The train came to a halt in the next station and people shuffled around to get out. “It’s a funny thing. You know how everyone thinks Akaashi is so pretty?”

Kuroo looked down at Kenma who was crooking a wild eyebrow at Bokuto. “Sure?”

“Well, anyway, he doesn’t like Valentine’s day because he always gets _so much_ chocolate from girls.” Bokuto mimed holding something giant between his arms. “He would bring this giant pile of stuff into the club room and we’d all pig out when coach wasn’t looking. Ahh, it was so fun!” Bokuto smiled and scratched at his chin, thinking. “Though it’s been a while since I’ve seen any chocolate piles from him. Hmm, maybe university girls don’t buy chocolates?”

“I forgot my question,” Kuroo muttered.

“I don’t think Akaashi dates much,” Kenma sighed, holding onto Kuroo as the train squealed around a bend.

“Well, whatever,” Kuroo exhaled and pointed a finger at Bokuto. “You need to figure your shit out. You wanna be centre of attention and you want Akaashi around all the time, but did you ever think maybe you just need a girlfriend? Someone to fawn over you.”

“That’s not helpful, Kuroo,” Kenma said. “You’re grumpy because you haven’t eaten yet.”

“I don’t need a girlfriend,” Bokuto insisted.

“Well, maybe Akaashi needs one - unless you’re going to start giving him the same amount of attention you want; a fair trade. You two live together now anyway. Why’s he gotta always follow you and be your biggest fan? What’s he getting out of that, huh? You’re not even dating.”

Bokuto blinked. He considered that for a moment. “I don’t get it.”

Kuroo rolled his eyes. “ _Dating,_ ” he made a series of kissy faces and disgusting noises that had people glaring their way. “You. Akaashi. That’d make more sense than whatever the hell this is.”

“You’re terrible at this,” Kenma grumbled.

Dating…Akaashi?

Bokuto considered those words; rolled them around in his head. They weren’t _dating_. Bokuto didn’t date _guys._ And Akaashi didn’t date… did he? Now Bokuto wasn’t sure.

Dating was something cute couples did. If they were dating, Bokuto would be holding Akaashi’s hand when they went to buy groceries at midnight. He’d get to hug Akaashi more often, maybe even drop kisses on his adorable nose when it got pink from the cold. Dating Akaashi was something he had never thought of. What a _thought_ though!

If they dated, would Akaashi give _Bokuto_ kisses? Was that allowed? He could feel his blood rushing up his neck, all hot and bothersome. He bet Akaashi gave good kisses. He had a nice mouth and pink lips and such pretty eyes, maybe Bokuto would get to hold his face and lean in and–

Bokuto’s eyes widened.

“There we go,” Kuroo grinned. “See, kitten?” he winked at Kenma, “Takes one to know one.”

“Do… do I like Akaashi?” Bokuto wailed. “Whoa!!! Guys! Is this a thing?”

The train rolled to a stop in the station.

“Bad timing, dude. This is us,” Kuroo said, grabbing Kenma’s hand and pulling them out the train doors.

“Wait, wait!” Bokuto followed them out onto the cold platform. “You can’t go yet. Kuroo, Ken-chan! You can’t tell me this kind of stuff and then leave me! I need help!”

“With what?” Kuroo said, shifting on his feet. “C’mon , it’s cold.”

“What do I do?” Bokuto cried out. “This is crazy! It’s brilliant! It’s great! Help!”

“Kuroo, you can’t just drop him on his head like that and leave him,” Kenma said. “You know how he gets.”

“He’s gonna spiral,” Kuroo nodded.

“I’ll spiral!” Bokuto grabbed Kuroo by the jacket and shook him. “Take responsibility, Kuroo!”

“Okay, fine! What do you want?”

“What do I do?” Bokuto cried. “Do I go home and date Akaashi? Will he do that? Does he even like boys?”

“How would _I_ know?” Kuroo griped, trying to untangle Bokuto’s fingers from his coat. “Get _off,_ you gorilla.”

“Yes, he does,” Kenma said.

The two older men looked down at him with wide eyes.

“He does?” Kuroo said.

“Boys?” Bokuto whispered. “He likes boys?”

“Yup,” Kenma said. “Unfortunately, considering they are the dumber of the many options.”

“Okay, _now_ I want details,” Kuroo grinned devilishly and leaned into Kenma’s space. “You never told me this! _Spill._ ”

“No,” Kenma said. He looked up at Bokuto. “Trust me. He likes boys. Doesn’t matter why.”

“It doesn’t matter!” Bokuto clapped his hands in agreement.

“Wait, have _you_ ever dated a dude?” Kuroo asked, looking at Bokuto.

“No!” Bokuto said gleefully.

“Oh lord in heaven,” Kuroo whined.

“Exciting, right?” Bokuto grinned. “I’m gonna go home and _date_ Akaashi.”

“See what you’ve started because you can’t _not_ meddle,” Kenma huffed angrily. He jabbed an elbow into Kuroo’s gut. He turned to Bokuto, “No. You need to think about it some more. This is a big thing, okay? You need to understand how you feel but you also have to understand Akaashi is a separate person with his own views and feelings. You’re not guaranteed anything with him.”

“Eh…” Bokuto deflated a little. Kenma sounded right. “So what should I do?” He wasn’t known for his ability to keep what was on his mind under wraps.

“You’re gonna go home and sleep on it. And you’re gonna research shit online. There’s tons of information out there.”

“Are you telling him he can _train_ to be gay now?” Kuroo arched a brow.

“No,” Kenma said. “I’m making sure he doesn’t fuck up his life by being loud and stupid and ignorant.”

Kuroo tilted his head to the side and made a ‘huh, okay’ face.

“Google!” Bokuto slammed his fist into his other hand. “That’s what I’m doing when I get home.” The next train came rushing into the station. “I’m gonna message you more!” Bokuto yelled walking backwards toward the train. The doors _bing_ ed and opened. “You guys gotta stay awake and help me, okay?”

“I don’t want to,” Kenma muttered, watching Bokuto grin from inside the well-lit train car. He was so big, it was like his body _and_ personality took up too much room, always.

“Fine, fine, yes,” Kuroo waved him off, sighing loudly.

Bokuto waved back eagerly, bouncing on his feet, and the train doors slid shut, ending their very weird, very wild conversation.

* * *

> **Bokuto  
>  **a mission?
> 
> **Kuroo  
>  **a FACT finding mission  
>  you gotta be smooth about it  
>  get info
> 
> **Bokuto  
>  **info on…
> 
> **Kuroo  
>  **==__== AKAASHI
> 
> **Bokuto  
>  **oh ic
> 
> **Kuroo  
>  **find out if he’s even single  
>  you don’t even know if he’s single!
> 
> **Bokuto  
>  **or if he’s pansexual  
>  or asexual
> 
> **Kuroo  
>  **Come again?
> 
> **Bokuto  
>  **i found this cool website that explains relationships and sex & stuf & it is GREAT  
>  things to lern
> 
> **Kuroo  
>  **Okay cool. Whatever.
> 
> **Bokuto  
>  **Kuroo…  
>  I read some stuff n it made me think…you ever think mayb ken-ken doesn’t like sex? he never talks about it like we do.  
>  maybe he’s not interested 🧐
> 
> **Kuroo  
>  **…  
>  god I hope not

* * *

24 hrs later

* * *

At the knock on his bedroom door Akaashi looked up from his computer and blinked. What time was it? “Come in,” he murmured, checking the clock on his screen. _Ten PM already? Almost bedtime._

Bokuto peeked around his door, well aware of Akaashi’s rule about not wanting to be disturbed while he was working. The first week in the apartment had been a little rough, fighting off Bokuto’s excitement at having Akaashi around, but it also ruined Akaashi’s steady streak of managing his sleep schedule. After almost missing an important presentation at school, he’d had to lay out a few rules of engagement while he was home. Bokuto had been cowed at first, but was getting better at following said rules that were now posted to the fridge.

“You’ve been in here since the minute you got home,” Bokuto said, snaking his arm around the door. He held out a plate of crackers and sliced cheese. It was just cheddar and unsalted squares (nothing like the cheese plate Akaashi had put together years ago for their Fukurodani end-of-year party) but the gesture was clear.

“Oh,” Akaashi pushed his glasses off his nose and rubbed at his eyes. He placed his glasses on the desk and leaned forward, rolling his desk chair closer to Bokuto to grab the snack plate. “Sorry, Bokuto-san, I just wanted to finish the thought I’d had in class about the structuring issues with this piece. I got a little lost in my work.”

Bokuto smiled and opened the door wider.

Akaashi bit into a square of cheddar and chewed slowly. How nice was it that Bokuto had made him a little snack plate?

“I was kinda worried,” Bokuto said, leaning against the doorframe in his loose t-shirt and baggy shorts. “You usually come out for drinks or bathroom breaks at least.”

Akaashi chuckled. “Oh, I’m due for one.”

Bokuto wasn’t at practice which meant there _was_ no practice. Akaashi blinked. What day was it? He turned back to his computer, eyes widening when he saw it was Friday. _Friday!_

“Oh!” he spun his chair around. “Your game! Yesterday! I missed it! I’m so sorry, Bokuto-san! I didn’t even realize. I’m so busy with these final assignments and with the end-of-year projects at my job, it must have completely slipped my mind!” He felt awful. He never _wanted_ to miss a game. He loved watching Bokuto play. In fact it was one of the few things that broke up the regular madness that was his life these days. Something familiar that didn’t require him to process or mark down notes or even pay that close attention because he didn’t have to. He could just watch and enjoy.

“Aw, that’s okay,” Bokuto waved him off. “I figured you were too busy.”

“But I didn’t mean to miss it!” Akaashi leaned forward in his chair, the cheese plate on his lap. “I don’t deserve this cheese and these crackers. I’m terrible.”

Bokuto laughed, the smile splitting his face open with glee. “You’re crazy,” he guffawed. “It’s just cheese. Don’t worry about it. Besides Kuroo and Kenma were there. ’S not like _no one_ was there watching us win.”

“Ugh,” Akaashi felt like crap. “ _And_ you won. Of course.”

“Well, duh,” Bokuto smirked. Akaashi loved the way his smile lit up his face. Bokuto was a walking bottle of sunshine, really.

“Did you and Kuroo-san and Kenma at least have time to hang out?” Akaashi asked, biting into a cracker. It was dusty dry and desperately in need of salt, so maybe this _was_ a form of punishment?

“Yeah, a little,” Bokuto pouted, “but those two were giving me a hard time. They’re not so bad when you’re there.”

“Oh?” Akaashi blinked. “What happened?”

Bokuto threw up his hands, “Honestly? I don’t even know, but what I did get was that they think I should be dating more. You know Kuroo and his nosy ways. He’s like an old woman nagging me all the time.”

“Dating?” Akaashi swallowed. The bits of crackers scraped their way down his esophagus. He coughed.

“Yeah,” Bokuto tugged at the upper shell of his ear, one of his nervous tics. “I dunno, didn’t realize it but I haven’t, like, _dated_ in a long time, you know?”

“You’re too busy with volleyball,” Akaashi said, trying to keep his voice neutral. He definitely did not want to give away the fact that Bokuto’s fervent love of volleyball overriding all desire to be with anyone was all that kept Akaashi positive these days. If Bokuto started bringing home girls and Akaashi had to bear witness to _that…?_ No, nuh-uh, he was not strong enough.

“I _am_ ,” Bokuto nodded. “Volleyball is life. Plus I don’t know any girls–or whatever–“ he shook his head a little, “–to date anyway,” he glanced up and away quickly. He chewed his lip for a moment before looking at Akaashi. “Do you think I should be dating someone?”

Akaashi blinked. He would need a moment to formulate an answer. Screaming _“No! Date me! Me! Me!”_ probably wouldn’t make him sound very cool, collected or unbiased on the topic. After all, Akaashi was well-versed in the art of repressing his feelings for Bokuto. He had become quite proficient at it, considering he’d started young. If he’d known that joining the Fukurodani volleyball team (to pad his extracurriculars) would end up ruining his life, he might not have done so. “Do you _want_ to date someone, Bokuto-san?” Akaashi said slowly.

Bokuto shrugged then scrubbed a hand through his already messy hair. “I don’t know… maybe.” He didn’t sound very sure.

Akaashi swallowed down the seed of envy that was lodged in his throat for whoever had caught Bokuto’s attention. He could deal with this. He’d managed for so long, even back in High School when Bokuto _had_ actually dated girls. Those had been trying times, yes, but Akaashi had also been younger and weaker and more prone to pressing his face into his pillow at night and shrieking out his frustration. Adult Akaashi could weather this storm with more dignity, he was sure of it.

“Then if you want to, you should,” he said impassively. He tried to smile, his jaw muscles pushing back at this request.

“No, but do _you_ think I should?” Bokuto said, blinking those wide golden eyes of his. Akaashi’s fingers twitched. He wanted to stand up, go over and just press his hands to his perfectly rounded cheeks and tell Bokuto that no one on this god-green earth could ever be good enough for him and his kind, oversized heart.

Instead, he said, “I think you should be with someone if they make you happy.” Which wasn’t a lie in the slightest; Bokuto deserved all the happiness in the world, even if it was in the arms of someone else; Akaashi wasn’t a _monster_.

Bokuto watched him for a moment. Akaashi put the plate of cheese on his desk and dusted his hands on his jeans.

“It’s been a while since I’ve even talked to a girl like that,” Bokuto said. “Dating is hard. So _hard;_ so much _work_ , you know?”

Akaashi looked at him and smiled. “Well, you like a challenge, don’t you, Bokuto-san?”

“I suppose,” Bokuto sighed and rubbed the heel of his hand into one eye. Akaashi was momentarily distracted by the flex of Bokuto’s very well-defined arm muscles. He was so _big_ in some spots, it was a little flustering. “But Kuroo was talking about having sex and getting laid and rolling around with a girl and I’m just like, _argh!”_ Bokuto threw up his hands. “I don’t know!”

“Those all sound like the same thing,” Akaashi smiled.

“I mean it’s been a long time, ‘Kaashi,” Bokuto said with a pout. “Like, a _long_ time. I probably forgot how it all works.” He wiggled his fingers in their air and stuck out his tongue.

“I’m sure you’ll do fine once you, um, find someone you like,” Akaashi said.

“Wait,” Bokuto narrowed his eyes, “when’s the last time you… you, you know?” He wedged his ten fingers together in some weird representation of bonding.

“I’m not dating anyone, if that’s what you’re asking,” Akaashi said carefully.

“That is _not_ what I asked,” Bokuto grinned and stepped into the bedroom properly. “Nice avoiding; I asked when you last got laid, _Akaashi._ ” He had this way, this voice he used when he said Akaashi’s name that never failed to send a little zip of electricity down Akaashi’s spine. It was unique and special and only Bokuto was that rough with the syllables. It felt stupid to admit but Akaashi loved the way Bokuto said his name sometimes, especially when he was being coy.

“Well,” Akaashi said slowly, realizing he’d just opened a door to a topic he hadn’t wanted to get to just yet.

You see, Akaashi had decided many years ago that his friendship with Bokuto hinged on the fact that they had to be honest with one another. Akaashi knew that Bokuto didn’t mince words, nor did he work in metaphors. He liked it when Akaashi was frank and forthright with answers to his questions. Bokuto wasn’t an idiot but he _was_ mildly gullible, especially around his friends. A lot of kids would bend the truth just to see if he believed them and it was a shame to treat an open, honest heart so cruelly. However, Bokuto could always trust Akaashi to tell him the truth. Akaashi would always do better by him.

Bokuto arched an eyebrow. “Well…?” he pressed, already grinning.

“My last sexual experience was about three months ago,” Akaashi said, plain as ever.

Bokuto blinked, then his mouth fell open. “Wait, what– _really?_ ”

Akaashi nodded.

“Wh-with who?” Bokuto stuttered. “I didn’t know you had a girlfriend! Or boyfriend, guy friend, whatever. Why didn’t you _tell_ me?”

Akaashi smiled, “He’s not my boyfriend.” He said it like it was nothing. Bokuto must have realized at some point (or perhaps known all along?) about Akaashi’s preferences, so why hide anything as trivial as gender now? Today had become a new chapter of revelations for Akaashi.

Bokuto’s cheeks flushed pink, “Oh. So… who is he? Can you tell me?”

“Was,” Akaashi said, leaning back in his computer chair. He crossed his legs, socked foot bouncing a little.

“Oh no, he died?” Bokuto’s eyes dimmed.

Akaashi laughed, “No, no. He’s alive and well. He _was_ my bed partner; my former roommate, Nitin. You met him once.”

“What? Wait. What?” Bokuto looked a little frantic with this new information. He fumbled further across the bedroom until he fell onto Akaashi’s neatly made bed. He twisted about like a flopping fish for a second, then sat up, heels hitting the floor. “The exchange student guy? The tall, skinny guy? With the curly hair?”

“Yes,” Akaashi said.

“Oh. You like…” Bokuto faltered. “Guys like him?”

“Well,” Akaashi tilted his head to the side. “We had an _arrangement_. He was smart and kind and gentle.” And Nitin didn’t make Akaashi want to rip his head off the way his two other roommates did. Nitin being sweet, willing and _gay_ did help with their strangely fulfilling roommate relationship.

“Oh, I see,” Bokuto said with glazed eyes. It was very clear that he did not see at all. Akaashi smiled with fondness.

“Don’t look so concerned, we just used to keep each other company. He’s charming. And he doesn’t have any family or friends here, so we grew close enough living together that every now and then…” Akaashi shrugged and refused to feel embarrassed about his sex life. He wasn’t the sort to make rash decisions about bed partners, so what did he have to be embarrassed about? Maybe it was because this was Bokuto asking. “He wasn’t my boyfriend or anything so serious.”

“Not… your…” Bokuto looked a little confused as to how two people could engage in sex without somehow being emotionally intermingled. “So, he’s not still–you’re not together still?”

“Oh, no,” Akaashi waved that thought off, “it was an something that we occasionally appreciated, but only as roommates. I had to keep my sanity somehow. Especially with Pak-san and Sakuna-san in such close proximity.”

Bokuto knew all about Akaashi’s two other roommates. Akaashi had complained about them for months until the day Bokuto came to visit him in the middle of summer. Something about Bokuto in a tank top, muscles thick and visible, grin wide and sharp, spooked the two idiots. Bokuto was as charming as ever, though perhaps to strangers he did come across as loud and obnoxious. Pak and Sakuna, being under five foot ten each, quivered in their sneakers whenever Bokuto was around. They stopped bugging Akaashi after that. They even started cleaning their own damn dirty dishes, which was a miracle. Akaashi may only be twenty-one but he was decades ahead of those idiots in maturity. It had pleased Nitin too. He’d suggested bringing Bokuto over more often, which only made Akaashi suspect it was more than just Bokuto’s threatening ambiance that appealed to Nitin.

“Okay, I see,” Bokuto nodded, eyes staring at nothing. “So you’ve kinda been having sex this whole time.”

“Not all the time,” Akaashi said. “Just recently, I guess. Nitin only moved in last Winter, remember?”

“Hm,” Bokuto hummed, lost in thought.

Akaashi was very happy that the fact he’d been sleeping with a _man_ wasn’t a point of concern for Bokuto. Of course the issue might just be that Akaashi had kept it from him. Well, that issue was now rectified.

“I didn’t mean to keep it from you or anything,” Akaashi said.

Bokuto looked up, wide eyes still a little lost in thought. “Eh? Oh, ‘Kaashi, don’t worry about it! I’m just thinking, like, why wasn’t _I_ out there having sex, or dating, you know? Didn’t even notice my best friend getting laid for like, a _year._ ” He whistled. “I suck, man.”

“You have other interests, and I wasn't broadcasting it,” Akaashi murmured. “It’s really not a slight against you for not noticing.”

Bokuto’s mouth twisted to the side, “The way Kuroo talks about it, you’d think I was a complete idiot for not dating a ton. He says tons of girls liked me too, and I didn’t notice _that_ either.”

Akaashi frowned. Kuroo-san did have a sharp way with words sometimes. He could dig deep and get right to the problem. When it was about volleyball or how to stand up on your own two feet it was fine, but if it was about Bokuto feeling weird about sex, then it was not okay.

“Well, Kuroo-san isn’t dating anyone, is he?” Akaashi said archly, folding his arms. “Who is he to cast aspersions on your behaviour?”

Bokuto pushed his lips around while he rolled his head from side-to-side, “Eh, Kuroo. I think he’s still figuring himself out. Maybe he’s protecting onto me.”

“Pro _jecting_ ,” Akaashi corrected him.

“Yeah,” Bokuto laughed, “Maybe he’s just horny and mad about it.”

“Well, if he and Kenma figure themselves out maybe he wouldn’t be so mad.”

“ _You_ noticed that too?” Bokuto gasped, eyes wide.

“That Kuroo is dreadfully, mournfully in love with Kenma?” Akaashi frowned. “Is it not _supposed_ to be obvious?”

“No, that–“ Bokuto fumbled, clearly confused and trying go backtrack over their conversation for understanding. “Wait. I meant you knew Kuroo was bi? Wait, Kuroo is in love with _Kenma?_ You think they should get together?” He scissored two fingers on each hand, making the scissors connect and bounce against one another.

“I didn’t know Kuroo-san was bisexual _per se_ ,” Akaashi murmured, thinking. “But I certainly knew Kenma was gay.”

“ _What?_ Kenma’s gay too? _How?_ ” Bokuto sounded truly intrigued. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, still perched on the end of Akaashi’s bed.

“Uh. He told me?” Akaashi said.

Kenma had muttered it aloud in his third year of high school actually, at the Tokyo volleyball training camp. He’d sounded more resigned than pleased by the prospect, but Akaashi appreciated that Kenma felt comfortable enough to tell him his secret. The two of them shared a certain sensibility about the world. They were no-nonsense types who preferred to observe, rather than engage in the tragedy that was their high school existence at the time. Kenma hadn’t wanted advice or input. He’d merely been updating Akaashi on his life.

“Nobody tells me anything!” Bokuto wailed, throwing up his arms in frustration. “Kenma’s gay, Kuroo’s maybe into girls _and_ guys _and_ Kenma? And you’re into guys too? And you’ve had more sex than me? Ugh!” He flopped backwards onto Akaashi’s bed.

“To be fair, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi smiled fondly, “You’re not great at keeping secrets.”

Bokuto sat up, his face hot and set in mild annoyance, “I can keep secrets! I can! Stop laughing, ‘Kaashi, I _can!”_ He fumed red. _“_ Komoe-san told me his secret about how his current girlfriend doesn’t know about his _other_ girlfriend because he’s good with time-management! He told me that secret!”

Akaashi raised both brows, mouth tilting up on one end.

Bokuto wavered, then deflated. “I just told you Komoe-san’s big scary secret, didn’t I?” he said. Akaashi couldn’t help laughing. “I tried so hard!” Bokuto bashed his palms against the sides of his head. “Okay, maybe I get it. This is why people don’t tell me shit.”

“Don’t worry,” Akaashi murmured, scooting his chair closer. “It’s not that people don’t trust you. I think it’s more to do with them not being honest with themselves, if that makes sense?”

“No, I don’t understand,” Bokuto sighed, “but whatever. I’ll just need to pay better attention. Be smarter than I look, you know?”

Akaashi twisted his mouth to the side. Everyone underestimated Bokuto, but they were always on the wrong side of _that_ argument.

He wanted to touch Bokuto, maybe press a hand to his knee, reassure him, but he couldn’t. He had to hold back, had to keep himself in check. Just because they now lived together didn’t mean Akaashi should start slacking. He was strong, he’d weathered his feelings for years, he could do it forever if he had to.

“To be fair,” he murmured, looking into Bokuto’s eyes. “If that’s what Komoe-san gets up to in his free time, I have to assume he’s a really terrible person. Maybe he doesn’t deserve to have you keep his secrets for him.”

“I _know_ , right?” Bokuto whispered, leaning in. “He’s my teammate, yeah, but also _what_ about his nice, pretty girlfriend? _Sheesh_ , what a dipshit.”

* * *

> **Akaashi  
>  **Can you please tell your feline friend to stop badgering Bokuto about girls? He has enough to worry about.
> 
> **Kenma  
>  **Kuroo? Why don’t you msg him?
> 
> **Akaashi  
>  **Because if I do it, I’m liable to lose my temper and injure him verbally
> 
> **Kenma  
>  **Noted

* * *

> **Bokuto  
>  **AKAASKHI LIKES TALL BROWN HANDSOME NERDS. DID YOU KNOW THIS???
> 
> **Kuroo  
>  **Good evening, Koutarou. I am fine. Thank you for asking.
> 
> **Bokuto  
>  **hes been sleeping with one of his roommates!!!??? the skinny guy with the glasses and nice clothes n stuff 😫😫😫😫😫😫
> 
> **Kuroo  
>  **… wat…
> 
> **Bokuto  
>  **KUROO WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO  
>  IM NOT BROWN OR HANDSOME OR A NERD
> 
> **Kuroo  
>  **Hold on  
>  Kenma says it was the one guy that’s in lit class with him. Is that right?
> 
> **Bokuto  
>  **how am i suposed to know??  
>  how does KENMA KNOW????
> 
> **Kuroo  
> ** I dunno he’s just giving me a dirty look  
>  Ok. He says we’re terrible friends because neither of us ask Akaashi about his life ever
> 
> **Bokuto  
>  **😭 omg he’s right 😭


	3. Chapter 3

Akaashi exhaled slowly, trying to focus. The woman in the youtube video emphasized breathing bigger, deeper and expanding the ribcage–he matched her as best he could.

His bedroom was too small to do this, so he’d cleared a small space beside the balcony door, next to the coffee table. His joints had been complaining a lot lately, demanding his attention. It was a quiet morning, the snow outside drifting slowly past the balcony door, creating a soothing visual for him to stare at. This was exactly what he’d needed after his week from hell. With work and school and his final projects finally coming to a close, it was no wonder his body was crying out for help. His stress, he firmly believed, was stored in his spine and hips alone.

“Now you’re going to slide from dolphin into triangle pose,” the woman in his tablet said, slowly showing the transition. Akaashi exhaled again and shifted his feet, getting his balance just right before bending and twisting to the side to angle his right hand’s fingers toward the floor. His lifted his left arm straight up and breathed, feeling his muscles stretch and relax better into this new position. He held the pose for a minute, feeling the pull in his butt and legs. It was excellent, stretching out his torso, reminding himself he was alive, and fit and healthy.

“And relax,” the woman’s gentle voice murmured. Akaashi carefully stood up to his full height, eyes closed, concentrating on how his lungs were expanding, how his elbows and knees were working. He twisted, keeping his feet planted and felt the tug on his hips and sides. It felt _so_ good. He moved, twisting from side-to-side, slowly pushing his muscles for more.

A soft sound made his eyes fly open and he released the pose, turning on one foot to find Bokuto standing on the other side of the living room, a spoon dangling from his mouth, his eyes focused on Akaashi.

“Oh, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi said, then cleared his throat. He hadn’t as yet spoken to anyone and his voice was still a rumbling scratch. “I didn’t see you.”

“Uh,” Bokuto blinked. He was wearing a tank top, volleyball shorts and a baseball cap on backwards. He looked like every sporty stereotype Akaashi had ever seen on tv. It suited him, though Akaashi thought everything suited Bokuto, so he wasn’t that great a judge.

“Did you just come back from the gym?” Akaashi asked, wondering if the redness in Bokuto’s cheeks could be attributed to his workout.

“No,” Bokuto said. “Came out my room to get some yoghurt.” He held up the giant tub in his one hand.

Ah, that explained the spoon.

“I’m almost done,” Akaashi murmured, glancing at his tablet. The YouTuber was finishing up her end-of-video spiel about healthy eating and mindfulness. Akaashi had heard it all a million times. He went over and tapped the video to pause it. “It’s only a short warm-up.” Bokuto was staring at him like he’d just dropped out of the sky. “Are you okay?”

Bokuto’s eyes roved down Akaashi’s front, over his loose, short t-shirt and his black, streamlined leggings. “Are those new?” he pointed with his chin.

“These?” Akaashi plucked at the stretchy yoga fabric. “No, I just never wear them. They’re indoor pants, too thin for the cold outside. Can’t jog in these.” He had better fleece-lined leggings for his morning runs.

“Oh,” Bokuto nodded slowly, looking a little preoccupied.

Akaashi frowned and walked around the coffee table towards his friend. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay? Your face is very red and you seem out of it, Bokuto-san.” He stared into Bokuto’s eyes, checking for any irregularities. “Do you have a fever?”

“I’m fine,” Bokuto said, pulling the spoon from between his lips. “I didn’t expect to find you doing yoga. You’re very bendy.”

Akaashi smiled, “Yeah, I’ve been out of practise for a while. I couldn’t do it in my old apartment.”

“Pak and Sakuna make fun?” Bokuto asked.

Akaashi huffed, “No. There wasn’t any room for it and–okay, maybe they annoyed me enough that I wouldn’t even bother.” He lifted his t-shirt to tug at the hem of his pants. They came up very high and had a tendency to slide down his slim waist. “But really it was a space issue.”

Bokuto’s eyes watched his fingers. “Are those girls pants? They look tight.”

“Uhm,” Akaashi held his t-shirt and stared down at the black yoga pants. Each leg had a blue stripe that swirled down the outer thigh and around the knee. “I don’t think so.” He frowned. He’d bought these on a sale rack the last time he’d had any extra cash to spend. Though it _had_ been in one of the big variety discount stores. _Hm._ “Oh my… maybe?” He quirked a brow, amused at his own air-headedness. “Not that it matters, I guess. They’re nice and long. I hate when leggings don’t meet my ankles.” He had difficulty finding suitably long pants no matter the brand.

“Mmm,” Bokuto wasn’t listening, eyes still on Akaashi’s waist.

“Are you sure you’re not sick?” Akaashi murmured. “You seem distracted. Tired?”

Bokuto shrugged one shoulder, “Maybe.”

“You should take an afternoon nap. It’s your day off, after all,” Akaashi smiled. “I’m making fried tofu for lunch if you’re sticking around.”

Bokuto perked up and smiled, “With spicy onion sauce?”

“I can do that,” Akaashi hummed and turned to go pack his things. He rolled his yoga mat, then scooped up his tablet from the floor.

“‘Kaashi,” Bokuto said.

“Yes?” he turned, eyebrows raised.

“You look good in those pants,” Bokuto said, and wandered into his own room, leaving a very flustered Akaashi behind.

* * *

The series of events that led Bokuto to this very moment didn’t make much sense to him, but he felt like he’d slipped up somewhere.

He might have gone as far as saying that maybe liking volleyball in the first place had been a mistake. It felt blasphemous, but true. If he’d never gotten into volleyball, he’d never have gone to Fukurodani, never met Akaashi, never would have become friends with Kuroo, and he’d never have taken his _terrible_ sex advice. He also wouldn’t have inevitably gone down the rabbit hole of researching queerness on the internet at the ripe old age of twenty-one and a quarter.

At first it was just mild curiosity–a question or two that needed answering–a fact-finding mission. _That_ mission had morphed into more searches that expanded out from articles and into images, then a deep dive into porn, which–well–wasn’t _that_ big of a leap, but it _had_ put a cramp in Bokuto’s style.

You see, when you don’t bother with sex for a long time, you can function well without it. The need is lessened and the urges fade to a dull hum in the back of the mind. Bokuto had been fine for a while. He wasn’t anything like his high school days when puberty had punched him in the groin the first time he’d noticed how nice some girls looked in short skirts. Those days were a semi-distant memory. He’d been good without girls or regular sex or even a really regular interest _in_ sex.

However, now that he was _thinking_ about dating and considering _things_ – things like Akaashi’s voice, and how long his fingers were, and what it must be like to have all of his attention all the time – Bokuto was finding it hard to concentrate. His libido, like some ancient beast, had awoken from its slumber and it was _ravenous_.

He’d dug too deep and now he was horny all the time with no reason for it (if you ignored the ridiculous thoughts he had about his best friend). Bokuto wasn’t built to consider things in detail. He was built for action, not a new-found interest in something he barely understood and couldn’t follow through on.

He glared around his bedroom, hands on his hips. Trying to sleep while thinking about that neat video he’d found–the one with two pretty dudes making out–had really not worked in his favour, not when he was curious to see if maybe Akaashi would be interested in sucking face with _him._ Bokuto had scrolled through so many albums filled with cute couples kissing, and snuggling, and holding hands it was making him ache for contact of that calibre.

So here he was, at three AM, cleaning his bedroom because he couldn’t sleep. He had jacked off three times already to see if that would help–if he went for a fourth, he was going to chafe.

“So dumb,” he muttered, shoving at his bed to get underneath it. He used the flimsy broom to sweep out the array of socks and takeout wrappers and miscellaneous trash he’d left to linger without consequence. He bent over to pick up what looked like an invite to something. _Huh_ , he thought, _Konoha’s girlfriend’s birthday party. Did I go to that?_ He scratched his head. _Are they even still together?_ He shrugged and threw the paper onto the growing pile of trash on the floor. _Did Akaashi go to that?_

For the first time, probably ever in his life, Bokuto was nervous about making the wrong move.

In volleyball, if he made a mistake, it was over in a second and the slate was wiped clean. He could start again: new serve, new play, new chance of success. But if he fucked up with _Akaashi_ and somehow made it weird and awkward, he might actually _lose_ Akaashi – and _that_ , that was _not_ okay.

Akaashi was important to him. And though Akaashi _seemed_ all cool and calm and aloof, Bokuto knew he had some soft spots–and Bokuto wasn’t sure if hitting on him (propositioning him?) would turn out to be one of those _really_ tender spots that made Akaashi recoil and never want to speak to him again. Just the thought of upsetting Akaashi made Bokuto queasy.

“This is your stupid fault,” he glared down at his dick, which was blessedly at rest. Usually he was on good terms with his penis, but not these days. Not when it was getting him into awkward situations. His thoughts were all over the place and it was affecting not just his sleep habits, but his walks to class and his volleyball practices.

In fact, just yesterday he’d been made useless by the sight of Akaashi just before Bokuto’d left for class.

It seemed that even Akaashi’s former athlete habits died hard. He would go for morning runs every other day, bundled up in a puffer vest, scarf, hat and gloves, shorts, and those stupid tight leggings he liked to wear in winter. Yesterday he’d come in from the cold and all Bokuto could see were rosy cheeks peeking through the gap between scarf and woolly hat.

And the fucking leggings! Akaashi had always worn shit like that! How had Bokuto never really noticed how good they made his legs look? Akaashi was all tall and limber, with bony, sharp ankles and smooth thighs and rounded calves and–

“ _Bah_ ,” Bokuto looked around his horrifying bedroom, shaking his head. It was pretty gross. Akaashi’s room was always spotless and tidy and somehow aesthetically _symmetrical_? Even his small bookcase was colour-coded. Bokuto stared at the messy bedsheets and hideous pile of laundry in the corner. He’d put this off for weeks because he never had the time or interest to clean his room, and _now_ look: he was going to have to wash it all in one go. _Or burn it_ , he thought glumly. Good thing he had no classes tomorrow. Maybe this was a practical, solid chore that could keep his brain (and dick) preoccupied. Maybe then he would be able to sleep without visions of Akaashi’s long legs and sharp hipbones gumming up the cogs in his stupid head.

* * *

“That’s the thing, we don’t really have a style guide for things like this–” Akaashi was saying when the apartment door opened. He looked up, past Nitin’s shoulder, and smiled. “Oh, Bokuto-san.”

“Tadaima,” Bokuto said, his voice drooping on the last syllable. He paused in the entryway, his eyes on Akaashi and Nitin at the kitchen island. He was carrying a load of laundry in the basket at his hip.

“Were you using the building basement laundry?” Akaashi frowned. ”I could have moved my stuff first–“

“Nah, nah,” Bokuto waved him off. He stumbled around, trying to kick off his sneakers while keeping his balance. “I had too much stuff. Figured if I used the communal machines I could do more loads.” He certainly looked to have washed and dried every single item he owned, judging by the immense pile of clothing in the basket.

“Okay,” Akaashi murmured. “Nitin and I were just finishing up our work. Sorry if we’re in the way.”

“Hello, Bokuto-san, it’s nice to see you again,” Nitin said, nodding politely.

Bokuto seemed a little flustered, blinking and wavering on his feet like a hesitant bird. “Uh, hey. Hi. Uh, don’t worry about it.” He was looking between Nitin and Akaashi while chewing his bottom lip.

“I bought some fresh meat today, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi said, turning back to his notes spread out on the counter. “I was thinking some stir-fry for dinner?”

“Uh, okay,” Bokuto mumbled and wandered over to his bedroom. His bedroom door had been closed the whole time and though that was strange, Bokuto trying to squeeze through a tiny gap in the door with the pile of laundry in his arms was stranger still. The door shut behind him.

“Hmm,” Nitin hummed down at his own notebook. “I see Bokuto is still working out. He’s wider in the shoulder than last time I saw him.”

Akaashi pursed his lips and flipped through his pages. “Yes, and? Did you have a point?”

Nitin smiled at him. He gave a knowing look, the one he used when he could read Akaashi’s expressions. “Not really. Just an observation, Akaashi-kun. It must be very… distracting at times.”

Akaashi eyed Nitin over the rim of his glasses with a dry look. “Well, you get used to it,” he said firmly. “And by the way, if you’re interested in him, you’re wasting your time. He’s straight and the only thing he loves is volleyball.” He knew he sounded petulant.

Nitin chuckled and took off his own glasses. “Oh, no, my friend, I’m not asking on _my_ behalf here.”

“Hmf,” Akaashi sniffed, hoping their voices weren’t carrying across the room and through Bokuto’s bedroom door. “I don’t know what you mean, then.”

“Uh huh,” Nitin chuckled, “I can take a hint: no bugging you about your very handsome roommate and your feelings–”

“ _Maybe_ you should focus instead, and help me understand this editing–“ Akaashi said, when Bokuto’s bedroom door swung open again, revealing the man himself.

Something was different. Akaashi’s mouth dropped open. “Your room,” he said. “Bokuto-san, it’s so…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bokuto said, striding into the kitchen and swinging the fridge door wide open, hiding his upper half from their view. “I know, I know. I had to do it.”

Akaashi’s eyes were round, surprised to see the light from the window making the bedroom floor gleam and the bedlinen glow. His small desk was tidy, the books and miscellaneous volleyball paraphernalia all stacked up in piles.

Bokuto slammed the fridge shut, a pre-packaged protein shake already torn open and at his lips. He glugged it back, throat working.

“Well,” Akaashi cleared his throat. “It looks good, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto wiped his mouth and blinked at them. He shrugged. Very strange for him not to want the positive attention.

“What you guys working on?” he blurted, louder than necessary.

Akaashi blinked. “Us?”

Nitin chuckled, “I assume us, yes and not the ghosts beside us.”

“Yeah you,” Bokuto nodded. “Nichie-san.”

“Nitin,” Akaashi said.

“Tin-san,” Bokuto said.

“Close enough,” Nitin smiled. He was clearly very amused right now. “And what _are_ we working on?” He gave Akaashi his shit-eating smirk which only made Akaashi bristle.

“Nitin is helping me figure out my current work assignment,” Akaashi said. ”Because the quality and expectations are so low in the communications department, it makes my head hurt.”

“Oh?” Bokuto came over and leaned his elbows on the counter beside Akaashi, Nitin across from him. He looked over the many sheets of paper. “This for a manga? Which one? Is it the one with the baseball team? I like that one.”

“No,” Akaashi sighed. “I never thought I’d ever say this, but I _wish_ it was for any of the actual published manga.”

“True,” Nitin nodded, “even that would be better than this.”

Bokuto frowned, his eyebrows crinkling adorably. “Wait, this isn’t for the manga stuff? But you work for the manga company, right?”

“Yes, I work there,” Akaashi sighed and took his glasses off. “But I’m an editorial _intern_ and I am assigned to the marketing department.”

“Huh?” Bokuto said, looking up at him. “I don’t get it.”

“He edits and proofreads the emails and newsletters the company sends out,” Nitin said. “It’s not much fun.”

“Especially when the full-time editors write like ten year-olds,” Akaashi grumped.

“Ohhhh,” Bokuto nodded. “That sucks, ‘Kaashi. You’re a great writer. They should make you the boss.”

Akaashi smiled, “Can you imagine?”

“Yeah,” Bokuto said, truthful to a fault. “I can.”

“Yes, Akaashi-kun,” Nitin said, a little smug, “Imagine yourself as the editorial director of a low-level manga publisher. The dream.”

Akaashi was about to rib him about his own pitiful position working part-time for the India-Japan tourism board, when Bokuto cut in.

“Yeah, the dream _,”_ he said loudly. “If you ran the manga department, could I get discounts?” He grinned at Akaashi. “I’m behind on my series; Shonen Jump ain’t cutting it.”

“That’s not… how that works, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi said.

“Psh,” Bokuto stood up and sipped at his drink. “No discounts? Then what’s the point?” He cocked a brow. “Well, if you _were_ the boss, you could give yourself a fat raise and then me discounts. We shouldn’t have to pay full price if you’re the boss.”

“That _would_ be nice,” Akaashi conceded with a small smile.

Nitin looked between them.

“Yeah,” Bokuto scratched at his head. “So, dinner?” he said, changing topics. “Later? I was gonna go work out a bit, if there’s time. They bought a new shoulder press and installed it in the gym and I wanna give it a go.” He grinned and lifted both arms to flex them like a dork in some American beach show.

“Ah, yes, dinner, okay,” Akaashi said, trying to not ogle the already substantial muscles Bokuto had on display. What he wouldn’t give to press his palm to the rounded curve of those biceps–“I think we should be done here in, fifteen, twenty?” he glanced at Nitin for confirmation. Nitin was smiling, eyes twinkling, clearly amused by whatever was happening with Akaashi’s face. Akaashi frowned, “Which means dinner should be ready in about an hour.”

“Okay!” Bokuto said, sucking back the remainder of his drink, then crushing the bottle in his hand. “I’ll leave you guys alone! Busy, busy!” He threw out the bottle, stared down into the trash, then wrapped up the bag inside the bin and carried it to the front door. “I’ll take this to the trash chute. Oh, I’ve got my phone if you guys need anything from the combini. Like snacks.”

“Okay, thanks,” Akaashi murmured, watching Bokuto slip on his shoes and bang his way out the door like a kid running off to the playground.

When he refocused, Akaashi found Nitin still smiling at him.

“So…” Nitin said.

“No,” Akaashi cut him off with a raised finger. “No. Shut up.”

* * *

“Oof,” Bokuto huffed, twisting his knees outwards as he walked back to his spot by the back line. He bent over and massaged his left thigh.

“Can’t believe you forgot your fancy kneepads,” Komoe said from beside him. “You sure you don’t wanna borrow a backup pair? They’re not as expensive, but they should do.”

“Nah,” Bokuto sighed and stood up. He shook out his legs some more. “Regular ones don’t work for me. Sucks, man!”

“I’ll bet,” Komoe said, skeptical.

“It’s my thighs, not my knees,” Bokuto explained for what felt like the millionth time in his life. “They move too much and it hurts. My physical therapist says it’s ‘cos my quads are too big, or maybe I grew too fast in high school. My kneepads keep ‘em _in tight_ , you know?” He made a series of hand movements to explain the situation, but that didn’t seem to be helping, judging by Komoe’s weirded out expression.

“You’re a weird one.”

They still had an hour or so of practice left. His team was wavering, weak on their feet _again_ , while he was still trying to perfect his new jump and spike combo. Why didn’t everyone else have the same energy as him?

“Oi, Bokuto!”

Bokuto spun on his heel to seek out the voice. Coach waved at him, “Come here, I want you to meet someone.”

“Coming!” Bokuto smiled and bounced across the court.

Kuroo watched him from the other side of the net, a volleyball spinning between his hands. Bokuto grinned as he jogged by.

Coach was always glaring about something, so Bokuto didn’t need to assume he’d fucked up somehow. If Coach was mad at him, he’d have already thrown something.

There was a man standing beside him, a stranger. “Bokuto, this man is Hamada Ryo, he’s been watching you play for a while,” Coach said gruffly.

The visitor was tall and broad in the shoulders; older, but he still stood tall, like an athlete who had phased out of active play and was now forced to walk around in a suit all day.

“Nice to meet you,” Bokuto said with a grin, his own shoulders thrown back. Today’s practice had been going great, made him feels jazzed–even if his legs were starting to ache.

“And you,” this Hamada-san said, smiling. “It’s been a lot of fun watching you play over these last few weeks, Bokuto-san.”

“Oh?” Bokuto blinked. “I’ve never seen you at our practices before?” He crossed his arms.

“He was at our last three matches,” Coach said with a slow arch of a brow. “Watching you _play_.”

“Okay?” Bokuto crooked a brow of his own.

Hamada laughed and knitted his hands in front of himself, amused. “Let me explain. I am a representative for the Japan Volleyball League Organization. I’m a recruiter.” He smiled wider.

“Ohhhhh,” Bokuto’s eyes widened and he nodded. “Kuroo mentioned there were recruiters sneaking around.”

“Did he now?” Hamada glanced at Coach, who grimaced. “Well, I suppose he wasn’t wrong.”

“Hamada-san has come specifically to meet _you_ , Bokuto,” Coach said sternly, folding his arms. “This is good news, you know. Show some respect.”

Bokuto looked between the two men. He knew what a recruiter did and he knew what it meant if one came looking for a meeting. He didn’t obsess about recruiting the way Kuroo did. Kuroo liked to be two steps ahead of everyone else, whereas Bokuto liked to live in the moment. This mentality overlapped into all parts of his life, of course.

He’d tried not to overthink it every time Kuroo hinted at the possibility of being recruited. It was too close to the next step in his dream that he dared not get too excited. He swallowed, a rumble of excitement bubbling up inside his chest anyway.

“Do you have some time to talk?” Hamada said. “I can treat you to coffee?”

Bokuto noticed his teammates had all stopped pretending to play and were watching them talk.

“Yeah, of course,” Bokuto said in a rush. He grinned. “I’m all yours, Hamster-san.”

“ _Bokuto,_ ” Coach hissed. He was going red in the face again. Coach needed new blood pressure pills, probably.

Hamada laughed and Bokuto grinned wider.

“That’s all right, I understand you’re fond of nicknames, Bokuto. You can call me Ryo-san if that’s easier.”

“All right,” Bokuto nodded. He could play along.

As they led him across the court, Bokuto had one second to glance over his shoulder. He was elated to see his teammates throwing him thumbs-up and smiles of encouragement. Noriaki-senpai held up a fist for good luck.

“Don’t mess it up,” Kuroo’s voice echoed behind him as they exited through the main door.

* * *

“Ow, ow.”

Akaashi had been sitting on his end of the sofa for an hour already, trying to focus on his reading. He glanced across the cushions to where Bokuto was staring at the tv, completely absorbed by whatever anime it was he’d glommed onto. Akaashi watched as Bokuto rubbed at his leg distractedly.

He sighed and closed his book, marking his page with a fold of the paper’s corner. “Did you forget your kneepads again?”

Bokuto looked at him with surprise. “Uh, yeah…” he seemed chagrined by such a silly admission.

Akaashi cocked his head to the side, “You know you need them or else this happens.” _This_ being Bokuto’s legs aching for days after a game. “Was Akane-san not able to rub out the tension?” Akane was the very competent nurse who tended to half the sport teams on the Tokyo Tech campus. Akaashi had met her a few times and was very impressed with her way of manhandling towering athletes into submission. She was going to make an amazing Athletic Nurse.

Bokuto pouted, hands still pressing at his left thigh, rubbing hard. “She was away today so Coach said I had to deal with it.”

Akaashi sighed gently and placed his book on the coffee table. “Well, if you don’t fix it, you won’t get any rest. It’ll keep you up all night. Don’t you have a game this week?”

“Yeah, I _know_ ,” Bokuto whined, “but it still hurts. I messed up, okay?” He punched his leg, which only made Akaashi frown.

He scooted to the end of the cushion and eyed Bokuto. “Okay, let’s fix this now,” he patted Bokuto’s knee. “Come on. Come sit on the barstool. It’s easier on my back.”

“ _What?_ ” Bokuto sounded worried. “No, it’s okay, ‘Kaashi. I can do it myself.” He emphasized this by punching his other leg.

“Stop that. It’s better when someone else does it,” Akaashi said, getting to his feet and wandering around the sofa. He turned and leaned against the kitchen island, cocking an eyebrow. “Come on. Before the next episode starts.”

“No, it’s fine, it’s fine,” Bokuto insisted, looking a little stricken for some reason.

“I’ve been helping you with your legs for years,” Akaashi folded his arms. “You think my technique isn’t as good as Akane-san’s?” He wasn’t lying. Before Bokuto had been recruited to a team with an arsenal of medical support staff to help them through injuries and diet-planning, they’d both had to make do with help from their own teammates.

Bokuto exhaled loudly, like a frustrated dog that just wanted to be left alone. “Fine, fine, _okay_ , I’m coming. You’re a bully sometimes, Akaashi.”

He got up and Akaashi could see he was walking gingerly, his knees bent when they should be straight.

Bokuto hopped onto a bar stool and hoisted one leg up onto the other spare seat at Akaashi’s hip.

“Have you been like this all evening?” Akaashi asked. He inspected Bokuto’s leg. It wasn’t spasming, so that at least was a good sign.

“Yeah,” Bokuto muttered, watching Akaashi go looking for the medical kit they kept under the sink. “But I forgot for a while. It was a crazy day, you know?”

Kuroo had left a few things when he moved, which Akaashi had added to his pile of gels and ointments. He found the correct bottle and stood, closing the cupboard with his foot. “Busy, huh?” he murmured, coming back round to face Bokuto.

“Yeah,” Bokuto was watching him as he squirted gel into his palms, rubbing them together to warm it up. “I had a–“ he swallowed, “an interesting visitor, is all.”

They’d worked out a good massage technique in high school that worked well for most of the players’ muscle cramps and pain. Akaashi stood beside Bokuto’s knee, eyeing the muscular leg. Bokuto had always struggled with his leg muscles, incurring spasms and aches for most of his volleyball career. It wasn’t as bad as a blown knee, but when it happened, it could slow him down a fair bit.

“ _And_ you forgot your kneepads,” Akaashi tutted, arching a brow at Bokuto. He pressed his hands to Bokuto’s knee and squeezed.

“Yeah,” Bokuto watched his hands as they slipped up his leg, taking the usual route. He tugged at his shorts, pulling the fabric up to his hip, away from Akaashi’s wet palms.

Akaashi focused, feeling the bunched tension in Bokuto’s muscles. He’d spent weeks, in his first year, trying to understand the musculature of the human body. He knew the names of every tendon and ligament, every muscle group and every bone. He’d had to read up on that stuff because, as it turned out, his team was a pile of useless idiots who kept injuring themselves when it was preventable. He could work a knot out of Konoha’s shoulder in ten minutes flat, and made good use of his elbows when fixing Onaga’s back. Yes, they’d complained about him being a monster and a torturer but they always thanked him afterwards. Bokuto was no different.

Akaashi would be a liar if he didn’t admit to himself that getting to lay his hands on Bokuto’s legs had always been a highlight to any week. He _could_ say he did it for his friend’s _health and well-being,_ but sometimes that felt like a stretch to his dirty mind.

“This looks like it hurts,” he murmured, rubbing his thumbs up either side of Bokuto’s thigh, along the ridges between his thick muscles. Bokuto’s legs were _unbelievable._ So thick and solid, so _powerful._

“Ah, yeah,” Bokuto stammered. Akaashi pressed down hard with his fingertips, the warm gel easing his slide.

“You’re all bunched up here,” Akaashi kneaded at the inner thigh, where the muscle was hard and unyielding.

Bokuto nodded, chewing on his bottom lip.

“This might hurt a little,” Akaashi murmured and _pressed_ down, smoothing along the line of muscle, pushing up and then down again.

Bokuto twitched. “Ah,” his voice was a whisper, a gasp.

“Sorry,” Akaashi murmured. He kept up the motion, rubbing and smoothing, releasing and thumbing at the leg under his ministrations.

Bokuto’s skin was pale and soft, even softer the higher up Akaashi went. He would have loved to keep going, to push a boundary he’d never dared to, but that would be so wrong. He was trying to help. Bokuto always suffered if he left his aching legs to heal on their own. It would be days before he’d be back to his normal jumping height.

When Akaashi finally pulled back, he wiped at his brow with his wrist. “How does that feel?” he looked at Bokuto. The skin was pinker, warmed up by Akaashi’s work.

His friend was wide-eyed and had flushed cheeks. “Fine,” Bokuto squeaked. “Thanks.” He bent his knee and flexed for a moment, testing.

“Do you need the other one doing?” Akaashi asked.

Bokuto seemed to hesitate, perhaps concerned Akaashi might make it worse. “Okay,” he murmured, shifting his butt so he could rebalance, get his other foot up onto the barstool.

“Oh,” Akaashi frowned, “you're bruised here.” He ran a finger over a purpling spot on the inside of Bokuto’s knee.

“Ah, it’s okay,” Bokuto shrugged. “Kicked myself.”

“I see,” Akaashi hummed and squirted out some more gel. “Well, let me get this leg done and then you can relax, okay? Maybe take some naproxen to help with swelling. Give these muscles a rest for once, you silly goose.”

Bokuto’s smile was lopsided but he nodded, accepting his fate between Akaashi’s more than capable hands.

* * *

> **Bokuto  
>  **Last night was torture  
>  actual livinggg torture!!!
> 
> **Kuroo  
>  **Oh so NOW it’s weird that Akaashi’s good at giving you rubdowns  
>  Psh  
>  Like it wasn’t already weird  
>  ‘oh kuroo 🤭 I bet you wish you had an akaashi at nekoma to snap your joints and hurt you extra bad uwu’ 🤭  
>  You think we all liked it when he fucking twisted our limbs into pretzels at the summer camps?  
>  He’s a sadist, I swear
> 
> **Bokuto  
>  **OK LOOK  
>  it was never weird before???  
>  akakshi always fixed my legs  
>  hes so good at it  
>  now its like fucked up  
>  I had half a boner, man!!!  
>  im not even sure he didn’t see!!!!  
>  Wat if he saw n thinks I’m some skeez?!  
>  HeLp ME KUROO
> 
> **Kuroo  
>  **Plz don’t ever text me about your fucking boners  
>  TMI dude
> 
> **Bokuto  
>  **ur right  
>  im coming over 🏃💨💨💨  
>  i need your help  
>  i didn’t even tell him about the recruiter  
>  Friend  
>  Kuroo my friend
> 
> **Kuroo  
>  **NO 🚫🚫🚫🚫🚫🚫  
>  That’s not what I meant  
>  I’m not your friend anymore  
>  I don’t wanna talk accidental boners and feelings with you!  
>  Bokuto  
>  KOUTAROU  
>  …  
>  HEY birdbrain!!!  
>  …  
>  I swear to god why do I bother

* * *

“That sounds fake,” Kuroo said as he followed Bokuto into what was formerly his, but now Bokuto and Akaashi’s apartment. “Gummy bears _cannot_ melt and form a giant ball in your stomach and kill you. That’s ridiculous.”

“My sister told me a story about a guy online who said it happened to him, though,” Bokuto said, turning, a gummy worm dangling from his mouth. The apartment building’s combini had had an alarming array of candy that both Kuroo and Bokuto had bought on sight.

“Which sister?”

“Sayaka,” Bokuto said.

“Ah, okay then maybe,” Kuroo made a face, shut the door behind him and watched as Bokuto fumbled to get his shoes off while also holding five different bags of gummies in each hand.

“She said he had to go to the hospital because the ball of gummy bears was so big he couldn’t poop,” Bokuto went on. “I think it was the weird sugar-free kind too, which is crazy because they make people poop like crazy.” Kuroo watched him bend over and pick up one sneaker at a time and slide them into the clear plastic wall of pockets … thingy that now hung down the back of the door.

“What the fuck is this?” Kuroo griped, looking over the wall of shoes.

“Oh, Akaashi likes it when we keep the genkan clear,” Bokuto said around a mouthful of worm. “He found it at the discount store. Neat, huh?” He grinned.

Kuroo scowled, “So what, now you tidy up after yourself? Where was this Koutarou when I lived here?”

Bokuto shrugged, unconcerned, “You want me to put your shoes in here?”

Kuroo spied a pair of smaller sneakers squished into one of the clear plastic pockets. _Kenma._ He sighed, said, “Yeah, here,”and handed his shoes over. He could have sworn that when they’d arrived earlier in the evening, he and Kenma had just kicked their shoes into a pile like always. This wall of organization was new and scary.

“Oh, look, shh,” Bokuto whispered, tip-toeing into the living room. The TV was still flickering, some ad for nose hair clippers blaring in a million LED colours. “They’re asleep!”

“Aww,” Kuroo purred, spotting Kenma and Akaashi flopped down together on the sofa. “We leave them alone for a hot second and they pass out. The movie wasn’t even _that_ bad.”

“So cute,” Bokuto snuck closer and pulled out his phone. He was making a lot of rustling noises, juggling the gummy bags from hand to hand.

“Good idea,” Kuroo said, pulling his own phone free from his hoodie pocket. He padded over to the sleeping duo and grinned evilly. They _were_ adorable. Kenma had squished his face against Akaashi’s chest, hands folded between them, and Akaashi’s spine was pressed to the back of the sofa, his arms holding Kenma close so he didn’t roll off the edge. They were so soft, so delicate together. He snapped a couple pictures. He could show Kenma later, proving to the boy how freakin’ cute he could be when he wasn’t awake and spitting insults about Kuroo’s face, hair, or miserable life choices.

Bokuto grinned, and snapped pictures from a bunch of angles.

“Okay, don’t wake them,” Kuroo sighed and stood up from where he’d crouched down for a curated shot. _That_ one was going on instagram when Kenma was being particularly petulant.

Bokuto stared at his phone’s screen with a silly smile. “ _So_ cute.”

Kuroo smirked all lopsided at the look on his friend’s face. “It’s that bad, huh?” he murmured.

Bokuto put his phone away and looked up. “Bad what?”

“You. Akaashi,” Kuroo said, rolling his eyes and waving his hand at the bundle of limbs on the sofa. He wandered over to the kitchen and dropped his bags of candy on the counter. “You two. Making you think, huh?”

“Oh,” Bokuto followed him and deposited his candy as well. “Yeah.” He tore another gummy worm in half with his teeth.

Kuroo looked at him curiously. “You ever gonna do anything about your little crush? I mean, I love getting your three AM texts of agony and all, but there’s gotta be an endpoint.”

Bokuto shrugged, “Dunno. Too freaked. I don’t wanna be a creepo. ‘Kaashi gets _so_ many creepos creepin’ on him. One time I had to tell one to get lost–he was so pushy. What a dick that guy was. What if _I’m_ one too?”

“You are the furthest thing from a creep. You don’t even know how to flirt, you bozo.” Kuroo said, sliding onto a stool. “And since when are you scared?”

“Creeps don’t walk around _thinking_ they’re creeps, Kuroo. Also, I didn’t say _scared_ ,” Bokuto pouted and waved half a worm at him.

“Uh huh,” Kuroo pursed his lips and blew a raspberry. “Well, I just wanted to see if you’d thought beyond just the _idea_ of dating Akaashi. What about actually doing it? Making a move.”

“Shhh,” Bokuto hissed. “Don’t wake them up. Akaashi’s got work in the morning. He needs rest.”

Kuroo watched him curiously. “You really do like him that much,” he murmured. “It’s kinda gross, actually.”

“Well, _you_ like Kenma,” Bokuto said like his statement was a lump of gold he’d dug out of a backyard vegetable garden: ridiculously out of place.

Kuroo smirked, “He’s my best friend. Jealous?”

“You know what I mean,” Bokuto leaned across the counter and narrowed his sharp golden eyes at Kuroo. “You’re _in love_ with Kenma and you can’t say it out loud. That means I’m further ahead than _you_. At least I know I like Akaashi.”

Kuroo scowled, “You’re nothing ahead of anything. And what the fuck are you talking about?”

“You’re not better at this than me,” Bokuto said haughtily. “You think you’re so flirty and sexy with girls but _you_ can’t make fun of me not dating when _you_ aren’t dating either. _And_ you’re stupid ugly-faced in love with Kenma.”

Kuroo’s mouth opened, but no words came out. “Fine, whatever,” he said. “But I’ll have you know I am excellent at flirting; _excellent._ I make girls weak in the knees. I just don’t whip out my talents every day because I don’t want to cripple half of Japan.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Bokuto snorted. “Nice topic change, One Punch Man. I remember that time you tried to hit on that girl at the second-year nationals. You remember? Huh? ‘Cos I do.” He grinned evilly.

“We made a _pact_ ,” Kuroo hissed. “Never to mention–“

“Yeah, yeah,” Bokuto pointed a finger at Kuroo’s face. “You tried to flirt with a girl and instead of leaning against the railing by the stairs, you slipped, missed, and rolled down the lobby steps like a busted cart made of bones and hair gel.”

“You do _remember_ the other side of that pact was me keeping secret your tragic display of flirting with a volleyball official who turned out to be an old man in a skanky yukata!” Kuroo hissed.

“I was _tired_ ,” Bokuto leaned in, hissing. “My eyes were _dry.”_

“You lie,” Kuroo retorted and grabbed a gummy worm for himself. “Liar.” He chomped the worm in half with his teeth.

“Well,” Bokuto pouted, “ _I_ never said I was any good at stuff like that anyway. It’s not like any of my girlfriends ever stuck around. They _all_ broke up with _me_ , remember?”

“Okay, but they were practise relationships. In _high school.”_ Kuroo waved his friend’s concerns off. “They don’t count.”

“They weren’t _practise_ to me,” Bokuto murmured. “They all said I wasn’t their type in the end. I’m too dumb, or whatever.” He looked glum, wearing downcast eyes that Kuroo hated to see on anyone.

“Okay, listen, no,” Kuroo sighed, “you're not dumb. You’re not. You’re like…” he searched for the right word, “… _excitable_. You’re a good guy, one of the best. You’re awesome. I wouldn’t be friends with you if you weren’t.”

“Yeah, but you’re not _dating_ me,” Bokuto huffed. “It’s different when you date someone. Mika-chan said I was _a lot_ , remember? Dating me was like dating a monster truck, apparently.”

Kuroo’s heart softened. He knew about all of Bokuto’s past relationships. The guy had a solid track record of getting dumped very gently by girls who didn’t want to hurt his feelings but who also didn’t want to deal with his _everything_. He was a big, soft doofus who just needed _a lot_ of affection and attention.

“‘Kaashi’s not like those girls,” Bokuto murmured, “he gets me. I think that’s why this feels different.”

“Oh?” Kuroo blinked. “Not because he’s a guy?”

“You know what, that never even fazed me,” Bokuto frowned. “Was I always interested in guys? Were any guys ever interested in _me_? Or is it just Akaashi because he’s perfect? He’s prettier than all the girls I know.” He twirled a worm in the air, considering.

Kuroo wanted to mention that yes, there had been moments in the past where men had overtly come onto Bokuto, but his friend had been too oblivious to realize or reciprocate. Kuroo decided to keep silent on that point. Maybe at a later date he could elaborate on those stories, hopefully in a public setting to embarrass Bokuto.

Bokuto sighed, “It’s like, I dunno, if Akaashi doesn’t like me back–like _that–_ then maybe no one will. He’s the only person who ever has the time for me, who listens. I know I’m a lot, and I’m kinda slow but what if he hates me for even suggesting we get together? It might be insulting.”

Kuroo made an exasperated noise.

“I’m serious, Kuroo,” Bokuto whispered. “Akaashi knows me best and he’s never ever made me feel like an idiot. He’s special, you know? He makes my chest get all tight and hot inside.” He balled both fists up against his sternum. “No one does that.”

“Yeah, I know,” Kuroo smiled and rubbed a hand over his mouth, considering. “He’s the only person I’ve ever met who hasn’t wanted to punch you in the head when you get too mouthy. And you _need_ a punch in the head every now and then.”

“Exactly!” Bokuto whispered loudly, throwing his arms into the air. “You get it!”

Kuroo chuckled and high-fived him quietly. “I do. Unfortunately, I do.”

—

Akaashi tried to calm his breathing, not daring to draw attention to himself.

He’d been woken by the sound of the front door opening but had been too drowsy to get up. And once Kuroo and Bokuto had started talking, he’d become frozen, stuck between Kenma and the sofa.

He must have drifted off right when Kenma had drooped against him. The movie all four of them had watched had been some dumb superhero thing with dragons and sword fights. Normally Akaashi would have been into it, but the story had so many holes it just made him angry. There was an art to writing a cohesive plot. Why couldn’t the fancy movie studios get it right?

The whole evening’s endeavour had been a workout, organizing a movie night around Kenma’s terrible gaming hours, Kuroo’s and bokuto’s training, and Akaashi’s workload had been a mess, but they’d managed to snag some time at last. It had been a bit snug, as it always was, sitting squished on the small sofa with Kuroo and Kenma. Bokuto was, as usual, relegated to the floor in front of them due to his history of wriggling and talking while eating. Akaashi, bored by the film, always ended up staring at the tips of Bokuto’s grey hair, right where it got silvery and translucent in the light from the tv. Sometimes it looked like Bokuto had a halo.

And now, well _now_ he was lying frozen, heart thundering in his throat, pretending to be asleep because he had just overheard something he shouldn’t have.

Bokuto had _feelings_. For him. Akaashi. Him, Akaashi. Bokuto had feelings–a _crush_ Kuroo called it– on _him!_

Akaashi was going to expire right there on the sofa. Kenma was going to wake up and find a desiccated corpse beside him and be traumatized for the rest of his life. Akaashi’s parents would grieve their son’s passing, remembering him for his love of books and onigiri.

Akaashi needed to calm down. He was very good at remaining calm. He had breathing techniques and mindfulness training, ways to soothe the racing of his thoughts when he got too stressed.

But he couldn’t calm his heartbeat. He exhaled slowly, listening to the two senpais argue about what drinks went best with melted gummy worms and marshmallows. Bokuto was siding with strawberry milk while Kuroo argued for sprite.

_Fuck._

He didn’t know what to do. Should he fake sleeping some more? Wait for Kuroo to eventually come pick up Kenma, heave him into his winter coat and out the door? Would Akaashi then have to pretend to wake up, faking a yawn or two, some stretching?

But then what?

Was he supposed to go on with his silly dumb life, pretending he didn’t have this knowledge screaming like a formula one race car around the looping Monaco Grand Prix of his mind?

He was going to have a heart attack. His heart was going to leap right out of his mouth and he was going to die from knowing too much. He inhaled deeply, slowly, trying to calm his breathing. He opened his eyes.

Kenma stared back at him, wide honey-coloured eyes boring into him. Kenma blinked. He must have heard it all. Akaashi knew it in his bones. What was he supposed to do or think?

Kenma didn’t say anything, instead, he nuzzled closer and gave Akaashi a squeeze. _It’s going to be all right._

Akaashi couldn’t see how.


	4. Chapter 4

Akaashi knows he has an excellent poker face. He wouldn’t have made it through high school without the ability to hide his distaste, his anger, or his burgeoning sexual awakening in the presence of the star ace volleyballer.

Sometimes it was the only thing keeping his fragile emotions safe from the cruel world outside – and inversely – protecting the world from his acerbic, eviscerating opinions.

Currently he felt like he was melting on the inside, his very organs and mind deteriorating at a rate as yet unseen by medical science. He was behaving normally, as best he could. He still made tea every morning and evening, he walked, talked and existed in the same manner he always had. He was the perfect facsimile of a human male and no one – not even his very in-your-face roommate – was aware that his usually iron resolve was cracking.

The first chip in his armour came with overhearing Bokuto admit he had _feelings_ for _Akaashi._ Just thinking the words made him weak in the guts and he had to press his forehead to a wall/door/vertical surface so as to not pass out.

The subsequent cracks to his resolve that spidered out from the origin point were forming with little resistance now.

Every night he laid awake, staring into the dark abyss of his bedroom and wondered what he was supposed to do. He’d never been in this situation before. Any time anyone had ever expressed genuine interest in him he hadn’t ever felt the same in return and therefore hadn’t had to reciprocate. Even his dalliances with random guys in the past had been more exploratory than emotionally involved.

What made this situation more untenable was the fact that nothing about Bokuto seemed different. Akaashi hadn’t noticed a change in their relationship and he questioned himself about a) how well _did_ he know Bokuto if he missed something like this, and b) how long had this been going on?

Bokuto was as loud and silly and bizarre as always. He worked out, he ate his own body weight in food, he snored whenever he fell asleep on the sofa, and he was always talking and laughing and being his boisterous self with no apparent shift in his relationship with Akaashi. If there _had_ been changes, Akaashi couldn’t see them.

What was more aggravating though, was the fact that Akaashi had to pretend he didn’t _know_. After confirming with Kenma that what they’d overheard was, in fact, true, Akaashi had begun to spiral. He was struggling to compute it all and couldn’t pretend for much longer – not when he spent so much time around someone who was always in his business, driving his mind and body insane.

Bokuto had always been a tactile person. He was the kind of guy who wrestled with his friends, hugged almost anyone he found mildly pleasant, and couldn’t keep his hands off anything he liked or was curious about. He was like the overzealous kid at the deer petting farm, dying to caress and pet and squeeze everything in sight.

Akaashi had grown used to it in the context of them being first teammates and then friends. He had never had a problem with Bokuto grabbing his hand when they were running late for the train. He’d never minded the fact Bokuto would hug him and spin around when they won matches in high school because Bokuto did that with _everyone_.

It was different now. Akaashi was close to shattering and Bokuto’s oblivious tactile ways were going to be the end of him.

It was one thing for Bokuto’s fingers to brush his when they swapped grocery bags at the front door. It was another thing for Bokuto to grab hold of Akaashi’s wrist to steady it while he leaned in to taste-test Akaashi’s cooking. His hands were so big and rough and warm, and his fingers were long enough that they circled Akaashi’s wrist _easily_. How a man so large and loud could be so gentle was truly infuriating.

It was also second nature for Bokuto to physically _move_ people out of his way. Akaashi wondered if it had started at home, as he had seen it happen in the Bokuto kitchen, the three sibling bumping around together in organized chaos. Akaashi likened it to Bokuto being an oversized dog who had no idea he _wasn’t_ helping when he moved people. It wasn’t uncommon to have him either hip-check Akaashi to get at the cutlery drawer, or – as Akaashi had seen Bokuto do with his shorter siblings – just grab Akaashi’s hips and heft him a little to the side so he could get to his snack cupboard.

Akaashi couldn’t possibly survive this much of Bokuto in his space. How had he done it before?

Even when they watched tv together, Bokuto usually ended up half on Akaashi and half off the furniture because he was _all_ sprawl. His didn’t sit like an upright human, he splayed himself over everything, given the chance. When Akaashi occasionally found him working on schoolwork, Bokuto’s desk would be drowning in messy papers and pens and snack wrappers. He dominated every space and he dominated Akaashi’s mind.

Every morning, like this very morning, was a trial upon Akaashi’s sanity. While he stood at the kitchen counter, waiting for the tea kettle to boil, he wondered how he’d make it through the next few days before they had to head home for the winter break. If he could just make it to Saturday, he’d be fine and then he’d have some time at his parents (a place where his overflowing lust and frustrations couldn’t get in the way of his everyday life).

He stared at the array of teas in front of him, their labels blurring. Maybe after the break he’d have an idea of what to do about this horrifying situation. He needed to make time move faster, to get to the future Akaashi who would have the answers.

He heard the creak of Bokuto’s bedroom door opening and stiffened. “G’mornin’,” Bokuto said sleepily, stretching his arms above him.

Akaashi made the mistake of looking up and regretted it. Bokuto must have slept shirtless because he wore soft sweatpants and nothing else. _How?_ How had Akaashi been dealing with this for so many years?

Bokuto padded over to him, still rubbing at his face. He had pillow creases zig-zagging over his cheek.

“‘Mmm, ‘Kaashi,” Bokuto murmured, coming to stand _right_ next to him smelling of sunshine and cotton. “Your hair. You slept on it funny.” He patted at the top and left side of Akaashi’s head. Akaashi wanted to lean into his touch, wanted to curl up against his warm, broad chest and think about nothing.

But he couldn’t. He wasn’t mentally prepared for that. He wasn’t sure what he wanted, what he should expect, or what he might do to mess this up. So, going against everything he believed in, he did nothing.

“You got work today?” Bokuto asked.

“Yes,” Akaashi said. The kettle boiled furiously and the light flicked off. He randomly picked a tea, tore it open, and threw it into his cup then poured the water over the bag, watching it swirl around in a daze. “I have to be in at noon.” It was his last day in the office this year. His boss had been kind enough to “suggest” Akaashi take his work laptop home in case any holiday crises popped up; like they worked for the national hurricane warning system or something.

“Mm, okay,” Bokuto yawned and rubbed at his cheeks. “You’re still coming to the game, right?”

“Yes,” Akaashi nodded and looked up. “Of course. It’s your last for the year.” _And_ it was a home game so Akaashi wouldn’t have to figure out how to commute to whatever other school Bokuto was playing against.

Bokuto smiled, his eyes still sleepy and half-closed, “Cool. Team dinner will be fun.”

“Ah, yes,” Akaashi had forgotten that the volleyball team usually had an end-of-year feast at the local Chinese restaurant on campus. It was greasy and so unhealthy it made Akaashi want to immediately get new bloodwork done, but the team had always been gracious enough about Bokuto inviting him.

“Noriaki-senpai says you gotta come to keep us in line. He thinks you’re, like, my keeper,” Bokuto snorted.

Akaashi wondered what people thought when they saw him and Bokuto together. Did he _look_ he like a caretaker? A babysitter? He hoped not. He was _younger_ than most of the players, for fuck’s sake.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” he murmured, staring into his mug.

“Awesome!” Bokuto crowed. “Kenma’s coming early so maybe you can meet up with him. So you guys get seats together. It’s gonna be a packed stadium.”

“All ri–“ Akaashi began and then choked when Bokuto pressed a large warm palm to his back, rubbing gently.

“You okay? You looked frazzled, ‘Kaashi,” Bokuto murmured, all earnest concern.

“Y-uh, I’m fine,” Akaashi said quickly, “just tired. Half awake.”

Bokuto rubbed a thumb down Akaashi’s spine and watched him for a second. “You can have the shower first, then” he grinned and pushed away from him, wandering back to his bedroom, arms swinging. “I got time, no workout this morning, yay!” He leapt up and smacked the top of the doorframe as he passed through it. Akaashi stared at his back, at the muscles rippling under his skin and wished this week was over already.

* * *

The game was a long one. Tokyo Tech was up against some tough competition going into the qualifiers.

Akaashi spotted a couple vaguely familiar faces on the Toyama team. It was surreal seeing other people from his high school days still trying to make it in volleyball.

“So noisy,” Kenma grumbled from his spot beside Akaashi. He was bundled up in an oversized jacket, a cotton hoodie pulled over his hair. His skinny legs poked out and his booted feet were resting against the metal barrier in front of them. They preferred front row for many reasons, but mostly because Kenma hated craning his neck to see.

Akaashi was very fond of Kenma. Not just because their personalities aligned well, but because Kenma had grown into, well, a really cool guy.

He was financially independent, was just starting up a business plan for a new volleyball brand and was already setting up a sponsorship program for the V-League. He had also developed a style all his own - unfamiliar brands and western styles colliding – that didn’t overwhelm him and somehow also emphasized his _get-away-from-me_ attitude. It was admirable for someone Akaashi’s age to have done so much.

Kenma was glaring at a bunch of girls further down from them who kept shrieking and stomping their feet whenever Tokyo Tech scored. Akaashi smiled when he realized the girls had a penchant for cheering specifically for Kuroo.

“It’s almost over,” Akaashi murmured, eyes following the ball. He clenched his fists as the Tokyo Tech libero almost missed the dig. He was still very invested in volleyball, at least as a spectator, and no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t help tensing up and clapping his appreciation whenever they scored.

Kenma looked like he couldn’t have cared less, slouching into his seat like a sack of potatoes, but Akaashi knew better. His sharp eyes never once left the ball. Kenma was smart and calculating, just as a setter had to be. Hm, maybe that said something about Akaashi and all setters around the world as well.

“Yes!” Akaashi hissed under his breath as Kuroo and Bokuto both blocked a ball, their combined height and width making a solid wall for defense.

Kuroo was grinning that cheshire grin of his because Tokyo Tech was winning and he could see the prize in the distance. Akaashi had immense respect for Kuroo as a player. He was charming and knowledgeable and always willing to share what he knew. Nekoma had been lucky with him as captain. Not as lucky as Fukurodani having Bokuto, of course, but Akaashi wasn’t counting national tournaments (yes he was).

“Oof,” Kenma hissed as yet another spike from Bokuto slammed past the Toyama libero. “One more point.”

The crowd was screaming and thundering around them. This was exactly what the team needed for their final match of the year. Come next semester, they’d be in the national round, setting the stage for all other university players.

The next play was set in motion and Akaashi felt his stomach clench. They were so _close_. The ball bounced back and forth over the net, the crowd gasping and clapping with every dig, every pass.

Akaashi wasn’t too fond of the way the Tokyo Tech setter played, but who was he to judge from afar? _He_ would have angled that pass a little further back, but that was unimportant right now.

The Toyama setter went for a dump and Akaashi was on his feet with the rest of the crowd.

Kuroo leapt to save it and the ball flew high up into the air and .. and…

Bokuto was there, already mid-leap, arm ready to spike and Akaashi’s chest swelled, watching the lights limn him before he smacked the ball right over the net, between the Toyama blockers and just inside the line. A _star._

The whistle blew and the crowd went fucking _nuts._

 _“Yes!”_ Akaashi and Kenma yelled, both of them up now, stomping the stands under their feet.

The Tokyo Tech team converged on Bokuto, crashing to the ground in a pile of limbs.

Akaashi clapped and smiled, so _very_ happy for them.

They really were _that_ good. He wondered what passers-by thought when they went to these games with no knowledge of who Bokuto Koutarou was. They had no idea this athletic superstar was out here smashing records and winning games no matter where he went.

* * *

Because it was the last game of the year, the school was taking extra time to congratulate the players and thank the visiting team for their participation.

“They need to hurry up,” Kenma said. “I’m so hungry I could eat an ox.”

Akaashi tugged at his backpack and pulled out an energy bar. “Here.”

Kenma blinked at it, then took it. “You just carry food with you everywhere?”

Akaashi smiled, “Of course. I’m terribly cranky when I’m hungry. Best not to let other people experience that first-hand.” He didn’t need to say that it had started in high school when they took long team trips and Bokuto became crazy without food.

Kenma chuckled and tore into the bar.

The announcer droned on and on. It looked like he was enjoying being the centre of attention.

Kenma said something.

“Sorry, what?” Akaashi bent down to hear.

“I said are you coming to get Chinese as well?” Kenma said into his ear.

Akaashi nodded, eyes fixed on Bokuto, who was standing in the middle of the line-up, all smiles. Kenma said something else. The announcer had stopped in front of Bokuto, spouting off about how wonderful he had been playing.

“Wait, hold on, I can’t hear you,” Akaashi said.

The announcer had turned to the audience.

“– and we were _so_ lucky to have him as long as we did, folks. Very lucky. But I want you all to give him a round of applause, not only for the magnificent game he played with us tonight, but for the many more he will play for the Jackals!”

The crowd erupted in applause and loud wails.

Akaashi blinked. “What?” he murmured, frowning. “What’s happening? I missed that.”

Kenma turned to look up at him, “Wait. Bokuto never told you?”

Huh _?_

Akaashi’s heart thudded slow and heavy inside his chest. He stared at Kenma. “Tell me what?”

Kenma looked remorseful for a second, uncomfortable. “Uh, well, last week… Bokuto got recruited. Kuroo told me. He’s not playing for Tokyo Tech next semester… I thought you knew.”

Akaashi’s eyes widened. “He got recruited to V-League? That’s… that’s _amazing_.”

“Yeah, it is,” Kenma said slowly. “He got recruited by the MSBY Jackals–oh my god why am _I_ telling you? That idiot leaving me to handle shit. I’m gonna kick his knees so _hard_.”

 _Bokuto had made it._ He was going pro. He’d done it! His dream! Akaashi’s heart swelled with pride and anticipation.

He paused, eyes fixed on Bokuto who was rubbing the back of his head as his teammates cheered him.

 _Wait._ “MSBY Jackals?” he whispered. He turned to stare at Kenma with wide eyes. “In _Osaka?”_

Kenma cocked a brow at him. They were all very much invested in the V-League and its teams so it was no surprise to Kenma that Akaashi knew exactly where the MSBY Jackals hailed from. “Uh, yeah?”

Akaashi’s heart dropped right out his gut and it felt like it hit his shoes. He felt sick. He sat down. “Osaka? But… that’s… that’s not Tokyo.”

Bokuto would have to relocate. He’d be moving halfway across the country. He was starting next year? Like, _January?_ _What the fuck?_

He stood up, chest feeling like it was about to either implode or explode. His breathing was tight and caught up in his throat. He needed air. He needed to get outside.

“Keiji?” Kenma tugged at his elbow, concern on his features. “You okay?”

“I–“ Akaashi swallowed, feeling panicked and torn, like all the stresses from the last week had finally built up to an insurmountable mountain he couldn’t climb and now the avalanche had begun. Everything was falling apart. “I need air. I gotta–I gotta just– go.”

“Hey, _hey,”_ Kenma hissed, watching as Akaashi grabbed his backpack and winter jacket. “Akaashi. Wait. What about–“

“I can’t!” Akaashi squeaked out and pushed his way off the stands and down the stairs. He needed to get out of here before he had a meltdown in front of all these strangers.

* * *

It was 11pm and Akaashi finally had the nerve to look at his phone. He had 1 message from Kenma, 5 from Kuroo, and 27 messages and 8 voicemails from Bokuto.

He breathed out, then tapped on the Kenma tab. One thing at a time. He could manage _one thing_.

> **Kenma  
>  **Where are you?

Akaashi rubbed at his face, ashamed. After the game he’d blanked and done the only thing that made sense to him. He’d jumped on the train and next thing he knew, he was back at the station nearest his parents’ place, the home he’d grown up in, the one place that was a constant, that never changed.

His parents had been surprised to see him but also happy. His mother was, as always, in the kitchen, while his father had been examining some ancient texts he’d received through a colleague. It was so soothing to find that his parents hadn’t changed much in the months since he’d seen them last. They were calm and composed and always silently welcoming.

He hadn’t been able to explain to his parents abouthis sudden exodus from the inner city, or why he was home early for the break, but his parents didn’t question him much. His mother did give him an arch look which foreshadowed a talk at a later point, though. Then, during a simple but delicious meal, he’d updated them on school and work and _nothing else_ before going to hide in his bedroom, the door separating him from the rest of the world.

He’d taken a nap, worn out from the day, and now, well, now he had to face reality.

He stared at his phone.

 _I’m at my parents,_ he typed out carefully then tapped send.

The typing dots of doom immediately appeared, warning Akaashi of impending communication. He stared at them. They disappeared… then reappeared.

> **Kenma  
>  **You went home? Why?

Akaashi buried his face in his elbow, his knees folded up against his chest. His bed was perfectly made, his bedroom perfectly clean, and yet he felt too big for it, too messy, and old to be here in this place at this time. He was sure he’d sat in this exact position a hundred times before, trying to deal with his feelings. Hadn’t he moved on?

> **Akaashi  
>  **I don’t know

His phone vibrated and Kenma’s named pulsed across the screen. A video call? Akaashi immediately declined.

> **Kenma  
>  **I’m not with Bokuto. Answer my call.

His phone rang again and this time Akaashi pressed the accept button.

Kenma’s face lit up the screen. He appeared to be walking, headphones dangling from his ears. It was dark out and Akaashi could hear the crunch of snow.

“You dumb bitch,” Kenma said, deadpan. “You ran away? _Really?”_

Akaashi sighed. “I don’t know,” he murmured. He felt sick to his stomach. The unease had only gotten worse and now that he was alone, faced with his decision to flee, it only got worse. “I freaked out.”

“No,” Kenma sighed, clearly frustrated. “You’re Akaashi Keiji, remember? You do _not_ freak out.”

Ignoring that, Akaashi said, “Where are you? It’s late. You’re going to get mugged.”

“I’m out looking for you, just like Bokuto is, just like the entire Tokyo Tech volleyball team is. Keiji, Bokuto thought you were kidnapped or something. You didn’t answer anyone’s messages. I think he might have called your work,” Kenma made a face. “I thought you’d at least show up for dinner.”

“Oh,” Akaashi said. “Sorry.”

Kenma stared at him. “What happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it because it’s dumb,” Akaashi said carefully. “Just tell everyone I’m sorry I worried them. I’m fine.”

Kenma sighed and looked aside. He appeared to be crossing a street, the lights casting interesting shadows across his face. “Yeah I already told them. Don’t scare everyone like that.” He focused on his phone again. “You need to call Bokuto.”

Akaashi was silent.

“ _Keiji,_ ” Kenma said sternly.

“Just tell him I’m fine,” Akaashi said. “I need some time alone.”

“But–“ Kenma said.

“I will message him in the morning. Tell him I’m sorry I missed dinner.”

Kenma stared at him and Akaashi wondered what he was seeing. “Okay,” he muttered. “You dumb bitch.”

Akaashi smiled, “Good Night.”

“Yeah, g’night.”

* * *

“He’s at _home_?” Kuroo said incredulously. “He went all the way out to the suburbs? What happened?”

Kenma shrugged as they stomped through the snow. It was piled high on the sidewalk, causing him to have to lift his knees to get through the drifts.

“So wait, he freaked out and left?” Kuroo shook his head and tapped at his phone, the bright screen lighting up his angular features. Kenma could see he was calling Bokuto. Kuroo tapped the speakerphone button the second the call connected. He wasn’t a big headphones fan and clearly had no issue with Kenma overhearing.

“Kuroo?” Bokuto wailed through the speaker. “He still hasn’t messaged me back! He didn’t come back to the apartment! What if he’s dead! What if he got hit by a car and it dragged his body to the sea where they dumped it and no one will find it until it’s too late?”

“Did you _not_ read your messages?” Kuroo barked over him. “Akaashi went home.”

“Hah?” Bokuto said. “But he’s not here?”

“No, he went to his parents’ house,” Kuroo said. “He spoke to Kenma.”

“But not to _me?_ ” Bokuto shrieked. “What did I _do?_ Oh no, Kuroo! He hates me! I did something bad! Why would he just leave like that? What if he never comes back? What if he never speaks to me agai–“

“Breathe,” Kuroo said loudly. He held out an elbow for Kenma to grasp as they clambered over some snow. It was annoying that Kuroo barely had to lift his legs at all while Kenma struggled. “Just shut up for a second.” He glanced at Kenma. “You didn’t tell him your got recruited, did you?” Bokuto sputtered out a series of indiscernible syllables. Kuroo cut him off. “You absolute moron.”

“Didn’t get around to it!” Bokuto wailed. “I wanted to wait until I signed all the papers and my family had to read it all, and then coach, and I wanted to be sure it was happening and then stuff got carried away and busy and Akaashi’s been stressed all week about something so I didn’t wanna make it all about me for once–“

“When were you going to tell him?” Kenma said, leaning in to the phone.

“I dunno. Tonight, probably. At dinner,” Bokuto said. “Or at home. Or tomorrow morning. Did you guys tell him?”

“No, you idiot,” Kuroo barked, “They announced it at the game, remember? Everyone heard and cheered for you. Are you that stupid?”

“…Oh…” Bokuto said.

Kenma tugged at Kuroo’s jacket and they turned down the small driveway of his new home. While Kuroo berated Bokuto, Kenma dealt with the keys and lights.

He kicked off his boots and slid his feet into the slippers by the door, peeling out of his winter jacket. Kuroo was arguing loudly with Bokuto while trying to get out of his scarf. Kenma took the phone from him and waited.

“But why’s he mad?” Bokuto said. “I was gonna tell him.”

“He just signed a lease with the apartment,” Kuroo ground out. “He just moved in, remember? You were supposed to be his roommate and what’s he supposed to do now? You’re ditching him for Osaka.”

Bokuto was quiet for once.

“Koutarou,” Kuroo sighed and took the phone back from Kenma. “I thought you cared about Akaashi?”

“I _do!”_ Bokuto wailed. “I care _so_ much. I can tell him if he just picks up the phone! When’s he coming back?”

“Dunno,” Kenma said. Kuroo followed him into the house, their slippers sliding across the wooden floor. “I’ve never seen Akaashi like this. I’m not even sure if he’s mad. It’s weird.”

“Wait, he’s not mad?” Bokuto said.

“Not sure,” Kenma said. “Says you can talk tomorrow.”

“But–“ Bokuto sounded defeated. “I wasn’t trying to–“

“Hey, he’s safe and he’s not dead in someone’s basement, so that’s good,” Kuroo rubbed at his eyes. “You gotta figure your shit out, man.”

“Okay,” Bokuto said, his voice soft and forlorn. “Thanks, guys.”

When they got off the call, Kenma watched Kuroo shake his head. “Well, that was an exciting few hours, huh?”

“Kinda,” Kenma said. “Akaashi didn’t look good.”

“No kidding,” Kuroo murmured.

Kenma clambered up onto the kitchen countertop and watched Kuroo putter about.

Kuroo was muttering about idiots and fools in love. “Plus,” he complained, “I played too! I’m not on the team next semester either! Where’s my fanfare?”

Kenma’s mouth twisted up on one side. “Come here.”

Kuroo responded immediately, turning to scoot in-between Kenma’s knees. He leaned down for a kiss.

“Congratulations on whatever it is you want to be congratulated on,” Kenma murmured, tugging Kuroo down some more. “You were excellent at stuff and you’ll be okay at future stuff.”

“Wow, you should do game commentating, you’re so precise, kitten,” Kuroo rumbled over his lips.

“Maybe you should instead,” Kenma smiled. “If this volleyball gig doesn’t pan out.”

“Fingers crossed for a backup plan, baby,” Kuroo grinned and curled his arms around Kenma.

* * *

When Akaashi came out of his room later that night he wasn’t surprised to find his parents still up and about. After all, he had to have developed his own strange habits from somewhere.

When he thought the Bokuto family was odd with their tendency to talk loudly over one another while somehow still catching every conversation, he had to remind himself that all families were weird in one way or another.

He’d grown up with two calm, yet strange parents who were always up to something, keeping their minds and hands busy. His mother, who ran a full catering business, had dedicated her life to food and the science of making delicious meals. She used to teach at a culinary school in Tokyo but found catering to be much more profitable. This was why the kitchen in their small, traditional house was fitted with four ovens and 2 large fridges. The tatami ended at the threshold of the kitchen and modern technology and efficiency took over.

This was where he found his mother.

She smiled when he appeared. “Still up?” she murmured, immediately putting on the kettle to boil. She made him some tea and they shared a moment together, admiring her handiwork. 10 loaves of bread were rising in bread baskets while four baked in the ovens. The already baked ones were sitting wrapped up in his mother’s perfectly branded brown bags. They were stacked on every viable flat surface of the kitchen, looking plump and ready for the morning bake. The kitchen smelled _amazing_.

“Big breakfast tomorrow?” Akaashi murmured, leaning against the counter beside her.

“Corporate luncheon actually,” she said. “Some hedge fund.”

“Charge them more?” he quirked a brow at her.

“Naturally,” she said. “Especially since my research showed they were partly responsible for the city’s accessible architecture program falling apart.” She sipped her tea.

Akaashi loved his mother dearly. She was whip smart, with solid business acumen and a talent for food. Those two might not make much sense together but it had stood her in good stead. Akaashi had always admired her forward-facing look on the world around her. She was immovable and insurmountable and Akaashi would love to be like her one day.

He had, however, gotten most of his education and future ambition ideals from his father, a classical Japanese literary professor who also worked part-time at a local cram school. Akaashi’s dad was a giant nerd and a gentle soul who had spent years and years explaining the world of ancient Japanese texts to Akaashi. This was where Akaashi got his love for reading, his love for language and his desire to work in literature. There was so much about humanity, about culture that was retained in writing. The fact he could read tales from the Edo era–here in the twenty-first century–was so inspiring. Words carried meaning and value and transcended time and place. He wanted to contribute to _that_.

“Oh, there you are.” Speak of the devil. Akaashi’s father entered the kitchen, his messy hair curling over his glasses. “I thought I heard voices. Look, my loves, look at this.”

He came forward with his arms out, a heavy binder held between both hands. Akaashi leaned in, intrigued.

It was the old texts his father must have received from his colleague. They were yellowed with age and kept secure and separate in plastic, acid-free sleeves to preserve them. “Dad, how on earth did you get this?”

“Oh, you know your father,” Akaashi’s mother said with a smile. “Always wheedling his way into other peoples’ business, playing barter with historical artifacts.”

“Look at the notes in the margins,” Akaashi’s dad said with that spark of glee he reserved for discussing aged scripts with his son. “Unbelievable. _That_ is the handwriting of a person who lived over two _hundred_ years ago!”

Akaashi couldn’t read the scribbles but he was amused by the fact that even ancient scribes had the tendency to scratch out notes in margins, just like Akaashi did when he studied for exams.

“Sweetheart, you need a haircut,” Akaashi’s mother rubbed at the back of her husband’s neck. She had a ways to reach, though he always accommodated her by having a bit of a stoop to his shoulders.

Akaashi had inherited his height and hair from his father, the two of them towering over his petite mother; she with her small hands and knife-sharp, forever bobbed hair. He had inherited his looks from her. No one could see the two of them and _not_ think they were mother and son. She gave him the sharp angle to his eyes, the dark arched eyebrows, the fine facial bone structure, and the gently pointed chin. He had his father’s hands though, long-fingered and very bony. Perfect for flipping through books, they both agreed.

“Keiji, we must go over this text at some point. I’d love your input on the finer details,” his father rambled on. Akaashi smiled. It _was_ nice to be home. “Oh! I also finally got that book set I told you about, the ones I saw online.”

“The diaries?” Akaashi perked up.

“Yes!” his dad waved at him. “Come, come, let me show you. I should have pulled them out the minute you arrived!”

His mother sighed and waved them off, “Don’t forget your tea, Keiji.”

Akaashi spent a good twenty minutes poring over the documents his father had acquired from some shady seller on eBay. He had to constantly warn his father not to trust everything online, but this particular purchase had actually panned out well.

The two of them geeked out over the texts, sharing thoughts and pointing out little details to one another. “This is so amazing, dad,” Akaashi said, pacing the front room of the house. “This person has documented everything. Their food, their tools, the people they saw… wonderful. A glimpse into history.”

“Ah…” his father said, then paused. “Not to halt this conversation too abruptly, but–” Akaashi looked up. His father was staring out the wide windows that faced the front garden, “–You seem to have a visitor.”

“What?” Akaashi blinked and turned on his heel. “It’s 2am, who–“ he froze.

“Hm, is that Koutarou-kun?” his mother’s voice made him jump. She was carrying a tray of his father’s favourite sweet cookies, stacked beside a trio of onigiri. She laid the tray down on the desk beside the bookcase.

Akaashi swallowed and immediately moved for the front door. What was Bokuto _doing_? Akaashi had left him in downtown Tokyo. He paused, took a deep breath, unlocked the door, and opened it up.

He stepped out onto the walkway and peered around the row of potted plants his mother had lined up under the roof overhang.

“Bokuto-san?” he said, confused. It was dark out, the snow sitting in thick banks alongside the walkway.

There he was. Bokuto was pacing back and forth like a dog trying to find a comfy spot to settle, muttering to himself at 2am in Akaashi’s _parents’ garden._ He wasn’t even wearing a hat, his grey hair wild as ever, his hands jammed into his winter jacket, shoulders hitched high under his ears. At least he was wearing boots. The night was too cold for this.

Akaashi stepped out further, confused and worried all at once. “What are you doing here?”

“Akaashi!” Bokuto said, eyes going wide. “You’re up! I didn’t know if I should knock, or bother your parents, but the light was on and Kuroo said I should wait ’til morning to talk to you and I figured if I came tonight, it’d already be tomorrow so that would count. But _then_ I realized it’s too early, it’s a dumb thing I did, coming here, plus I kinda forgot exactly what street you lived on – it’s been a while you know – but I was also worried and you weren’t talking to me or answering my texts, or anything–”

Akaashi held up a hand, “Bokuto-san, breathe. It’s okay. It’s fine. We’re all awake anyway.”

The light from the front door was reflecting in Bokuto’s wide, golden eyes and Akaashi could see he was unsettled, concerned. Akaashi sighed. “Why couldn’t you listen to Kuroo-san and wait?”

“ _Because_ ,” Bokuto said, “I wasn’t sure if you were mad at me. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about getting recruited! I didn’t mean to hide it, I was just gonna tell you later and then everything got so busy so fast and I didn’t, and now I know you’re mad and you hate me and I’m sorry but I couldn’t sleep thinking you never wanted to talk to me again!”

Akaashi watched him, seeing this adorable man he’d fallen for so many years ago. “I don’t hate you,” he murmured, shifting in his socked feet. “I could never hate you.”

“But, you didn’t wanna answer when I called…” Bokuto’s voice trailed off. “‘Kaashi, I’m sorry.” He approached and Akaashi felt that usual stirring in his blood, the warmth in his cheeks whenever Bokuto got close.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he said, looking down. “I was just having a moment, an overreaction.”

“Can we talk about it?” Bokuto said, hand coming out to touch two gloved fingers to Akaashi’s folded arms.

Akaashi looked up. He would rather run away into the wilderness than talk about what he was thinking, but _that_ wasn’t an option right now. He nodded.

“Also,” Bokuto said, voice dropping to a whisper, “Not to be weird, but your parents are watching us.”

Akaashi turned on his heel and saw his parents indeed watching them, both holding cups of tea in their hands like this was some performance put on at the opera.

Akaashi scowled. “Mom, Dad!”

“What?” his mother smiled, “Are you going to welcome Koutarou in? It’s freezing.”

“And the middle of the night, son,” his father added.

Akaashi blushed beet red and stomped into the genkan, tearing at his winter clothing on the coat rack. He dragged his jacket and boots on and snagged a couple hats before glaring at them. “We’ll be back.”

“You don’t wanna go inside?” Bokuto said, waving at Akaashi’s parents.

“No,” Akaashi shoved a hat at him and then zipped up his thickest winter coat. “We’re going for a walk.” He yanked on his wooly mittens.

“Okay, bye Akaashi-parents!”

Akaashi couldn’t do this with prying eyes, so he led Bokuto down the driveway and around the corner.

The neighbourhood was dark and silent, asleep in the middle of winter. Snow crunched beneath his boots and he could hear Bokuto breathing a few paces behind him.

“‘Kaashi, wait,” Bokuto grabbed for his elbow.

Akaashi stopped and turned. Bokuto was trying to drag on the wool hat he’d been handed. Akaashi inhaled, then reached up to straighten the edge. “Why didn’t you bring a hat? Your ears will fall off.”

“Forgot,” Bokuto murmured, looking forlorn again.

Akaashi shook his head. “I’m not mad at you,” he said.

“Yeah, you are,” Bokuto said. “You’re mad because I didn’t tell you about my recruitment _and_ _–_ “ he raised a gloved finger before Akaashi could interrupt. “–because I’m playing for the MSBY Jackals in Osaka. Which means I gotta move there, which means I got you fucked over by getting you into an apartment lease when I’m not gonna be around and that’s not fair.”

Akaashi’s mouth flapped open and closed. “Okay, yes, maybe that upset me.”

“I didn’t think about that,” Bokuto said. “I never cared where the team I got recruited to played, I just wanted to go, you know? This is really gonna mess up your life again, right when it got all sorted out. But I wanna help fix that! It’s not that big a deal that I got recruited. It’s more of a big deal if you hate me for it.”

Akaashi blinked and looked into Bokuto’s eyes.

“It _is_ a big deal that you got into a V-League team,” he said. “Bokuto-san, I’m _so_ proud of you. I’m so very, _very_ happy that you got your dream, that you’re going to play volleyball professionally. I couldn’t _be_ more happy.”

Bokuto’s brows furrowed, “But you’re not happy.”

“I am,” Akaashi said, “for you.”

“What about you?” Bokuto said. He reached for Akaashi’s mitts and held one hand in each of his. “‘Kaashi when Kenma said you ran away I got so freaked out. That’s not like you.”

“I didn’t– it was a moment of …” Akaashi couldn’t find the word. “Madness, I guess.” He steeled himself, determined to follow through on his promise to Bokuto: honesty always. “I’ve been hiding something, Bokuto-san. Something that’s been on my mind this week. I overheard you and Kuroo talking about me. Talking about how you…liked me, or whatever.” Bokuto’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth and Akaashi cut him off. “Wait, let me say this. I didn’t know what to think about all of that. Because it can’t be true, you can’t like me like that.”

“What?” Bokuto exhaled in a rush, “But I do! Oh my god, you’ve known this all week? ‘Kaashi! I wanted to tell you! I like you _so_ much!” his grip tightened on Akaashi’s hands. “Holy crap!”

Akaashi pulled away and began walking down the quiet sidewalk. He couldn’t deal with this like an adult, couldn’t look Bokuto in the eye. “You don’t. You can’t. How long have you been thinking about that? You do not like me.”

“What?” Bokuto huffed, catching up, “How long? Um…” he seemed to pause to think. “I’d say since you missed my game that time…so… three, four weeks?”

“Weeks?” Akaashi shook his head and stomped faster through the snow. “ _Ridiculous._ Weeks? I’ve liked you for _years._ You can’t possibly have feelings for me like _that_. It’s not so quick and easy and maybe you’re confused because you like everyone so easily, but Bokuto-san, it’s not possible. I can’t believe you. You can’t like me because you’ve got to think about your future and what you really like. And you like girls.”

A hand grabbed his wrist and yanked him back, causing Akaashi to stumble in the snow. He turned as Bokuto tugged him close.

His eyes were wide and sparkling, his brows high. “Akaashi,” Bokuto rumbled, “You _like me?_ You liked me for–for _years? Are you serious?”_

“What?” Akaashi’s stomach flip-flopped in his gut. _Oh hell. He’d said that out loud!_

Bokuto’s eyes scanned his face and he smiled so wide it was like the cresting of the sun over the horizon in the morning. Akaashi’s heart thundered in his chest. Well, he’d done it now. “You _like me?_ ” Bokuto repeated with glee. “Seriously? Like-like? _Me?_ ”

Akaashi flushed red, could feel the heat screaming over his cheeks and wished the eternal darkness would just take him now.

“Because ‘Kaashi, if you do, that’s awesome,” Bokuto said in a rush, leaning in. “I don’t care if you think three weeks ain’t enough. I think I’ve liked you forever.”

“No, you haven’t, it’s not the same,” Akaashi tried to pull away, confused and elated and sick all at once.

“I think,” Bokuto murmured, “I’ve always liked you because you’re the best person I know. No one makes me smile like you do an’ every time I think about you, or know I’m gonna see you, I get this _whoosh_ , gurgling feeling in my belly right here,” he pressed his gloved hand to his stomach. “And maybe I didn’t get it, you know? ‘Cos you know I’m super slow about some stuff, but when I did, oh _man_ , it made so much sense! I want to be with you and I wanna hold your hand and I wanna kiss you and I wanna tell everyone how awesome you are, how you make my days so much happier, ‘Kaashi! I like you _so much!_ ”

Akaashi was going to faint. He hadn’t been prepared for any of this. Not even in his wildest dreams had such a torrent of affection fallen from Bokuto’s mouth. It was too much.

“I-I don’t–“ he hesitated. “But how can you? When I’ve been…”

“You liked me since when? First year University when I moved away? Or high school?” Bokuto blinked, then smiled. “Doesn’t matter. Whatever. It’s amazing.”

“It’s _not_ ,” Akaashi grumbled. “It’s dumb. I’m a dumb bitch.”

Bokuto’s mouth opened wide, teeth flashing, “ _What?_ Akaashi, no!” he laughed with his whole body, clearly amused by Akaashi’s predicament. “You’re not! You’re crazy to say that!” His laughter was so warming, a sound Akaashi had always enjoyed being around.

Bokuto leaned in and wrapped his big, strong arms around Akaashi and murmured into his hat, “I like you so much and you’re not dumb at all. You’re the smartest, coolest, nicest person I know. And, maybe this isn’t good to say, but you’re also very sexy and it’s been very hard for me not to say anything about those crazy yoga pants, but it’s true. You’re pretty and handsome and funny and smart and I _do_ like you.”

Akaashi blushed so hard he was sure they’d go up in flames together. Bokuto’s jacket was made of some cheap flammable material, it was possible.

Bokuto pulled back and looked at him, all earnestness and kindness. “Akaashi, you wanna maybe date me? You wanna? Huh? You ’n me?”

Akaashi wondered yet again why on earth his dumb libido had chosen _this_ one, this man, but it had. He couldn’t possibly look into those eyes and deny Bokuto anything.

“I dunno. Maybe,” he murmured. “Okay.”

“YES!!!!!” Bokuto yelled suddenly at the top of his lungs, arms thrown up. Akaashi jumped in fright. “YES! He likes me! Akaashi Keiji likes me!!!” He made a horrifying howling noise to the heavens.

“ _Bokuto-san!_ ” Akaashi hissed and tugged at Bokuto’s flailing arms. “Shush! It’s the middle of the _night!_ ” God, Akaashi’s neighbours would hear this and think there was a madman outside.

Bokuto grinned at him, cheeks flushed, eyes flashing even in the dimness. “Can I kiss you? I really wanna kiss you. I been dreaming about it.”

Akaashi blinked, so confused by everything that had happened, he simply nodded, unprepared for the inevitable implosion of his heart.

Bokuto leaned in, smiling, and kissed him. He wrapped Akaashi up in his arms and kissed him so gently it made Akaashi want to fucking _cry_. His lips were eager and soft and warm against his own cold ones.

Then, naturally, Bokuto got carried away and Akaashi had to disentangle them, Bokuto’s mouth still seeking more kisses. It was so amazing and so very confusing, that Akaashi shouldn’t have been surprised because that was the Bokuto brand, wasn’t it?

“Okay, wait,” Akaashi gasped. “This is a lot.”

“So you don’t hate me?” Bokuto murmured, still grinning.

“No,” Akaashi sighed. “But we still need to talk. Come on.” He steeled himself and took Bokuto’s hand in his and dragged him back to his house under the watchful eye of the winter moon.

* * *

Life, unfortunately kept moving forward which meant that no matter how frazzled and elated Akaashi felt about what had happened, he still had to go back into the city to grab his laptop and a change of clothes. Bokuto had other similar things to deal with before he too had to head home.

What this meant was that they had to separate for a few days, each heading to their respective parents’ homes for the holidays. Akaashi had already dealt with his parents, considering he’d had to lay out the spare futon for Bokuto that night he’d dragged him in from the cold.

They were amused and accepting as always and Akaashi did not like the twinkling glance that had passed between his mother and father when he’d explained what had unfolded, but he only had room for one earth-shattering revelation at a time.

The Akaashis did not follow any religious anythings, so the winter holidays were just a nice respite in which all three of them got to spend time together enjoying good food, daily walks down to the park, and competitive board games every evening. It was a simple existence and Akaashi was blessed to have it.

On the other hand, Bokuto had to deal with his family, who dominated every second of his life at home. This meant Akaashi only got sporadic waves of texts from him in the mornings and evenings.

Every time he saw the notification light on his phone, Akaashi would get a rush in his belly.

Bokuto liked him. They were going to attempt… _this_. He was _elated._

A handful of days before New Year’s Eve, Akaashi packed up his things, kissed his parents good-bye and headed back to the apartment in the city.

He was first to arrive, the apartment looking the same as always, even a couple dirty mugs still lingering in the sink.

He was going to deal with the lease and his plan for January, but later. Right now, he just needed to decompress.

At seven PM, the apartment door flew open and Bokuto arrived, weighed down with bags of gifts, and baskets of chocolate, shoes, presents for Akaashi from his family, and extra volleyball gear. He dropped it all on the threshold and, grinning, threw himself onto the sofa where Akaashi had been reclining in peace.

* * *

The week leading up to Akaashi going back to school was a wreck. Bokuto wasn’t moving to Osaka yet – there was a transition period – but he _was_ eventually going to have to. Akaashi chose to ignore all of those V-League obligations and pretend he and Bokuto were just a simple couple getting to know one another. This relationship train had already left the station.

His days became filled with movies where they squished together on the sofa, meals where Bokuto tried to help and was summarily banished to the sink to wash dishes, and very horny makeout sessions all over the apartment.

It was driving Akaashi a little insane. Were they moving too fast? Was he just being pushy? Was Bokuto even ready for the next stage? God, they’d only been “a couple” for a _week_. Couldn’t he keep it together?

Thing is, Bokuto always leapt in face-first to everything. If he wanted to tug Akaashi close and drop a kiss on his cheek, he would. If he wanted to scoot Akaashi to lie across him while they watched some reality TV nonsense, he would. If he wanted to linger at Akaashi’s bedroom door while kissing him goodnight, he would – but he always _did_ leave Akaashi at his bedroom door. _That_ was the infuriating part.

On New Years’ eve they were slated to go to Kenma and Kuroo’s place to celebrate. Everyone was going to be there and it already sounded like a mess of a party before it began. Akaashi was going to stand before his friends and have Bokuto by his side as his _boyfriend_. It was a heavy feeling and not something he was certain he could handle just yet.

“How’s this?” Bokuto said, tugging at his t-shirt. It had a giant picture of a clownfish on it.

“It’s hideous,” Akaashi said.

“I know, isn’t it awesome?” Bokuto grinned. “My dad got it for me. ‘Cos he knows I love Nemo.” Bokuto’s eyes drifted over Akaashi as he laid out his own outfit over the back of his chair. A black turtleneck, black jeans and his black laced boots.

“You still wanna go tonight?” Bokuto said, resting against the doorframe. “We can stay in here, you know.”

“Hmm, tempting,” Akaashi said, looking up. “But Kenma said he had a big surprise.” He shooed Bokuto out of his room. “We’ve got an hour or so before we leave. Maybe we should bring something?”

“Hmm,” Bokuto rumbled, following him to the sofa. “We could pick up some booze at the store.”

“Oh, maybe,” Akaashi sighed and waited for Bokuto to sit down before he snugged in beside him. The tv was set to some anime channel. Akaashi didn’t care.

“Did you know Konoha drinks whiskey now? Like he’s some old man,” Bokuto said. “Maybe we should buy rocks for him. To put in his drinks. There’s some at the garden centre.”

Akaashi smiled and turned to look at Bokuto’s earnest, questioning face. “Rocks are ice. Ice in whiskey.”

“Oooh,” Bokuto nodded, comprehending. “I see.”

Akaashi leaned in to press his lips to Bokuto’s cheek, something he was totally allowed to do now. It was insane. Bokuto responded by turning to kiss him for real. He would do this all the time, derail conversations, if Akaashi let him.

“Ah, Bokuto-san, we can’t now, we don’t have time. We need to get ready to leave,” Akaashi said with no real conviction.

“Mmm,” Bokuto pouted and pressed in, hands immediately going to Akaashi’s hips. “But I wanna…” he tilted his head down and kissed Akaashi some more. It was heady and so sweet and Akaashi was going to self-immolate any second. Bokuto’s lips were seeking, exploring his own, his tongue reaching out to taste. He was, somehow, a very good kisser.

“Ex-girlfriend sat me down and explained I couldn’t keep kissing her like I used to,” Bokuto had explained one night when Akaashi gently questioned him on it. “Guess I kinda used to eat peoples’ faces.”

Akaashi was grateful to that woman – what she must have endured.

Akaashi leaned into the kiss, feeling warm and tense in his groin. This whole week he’d felt like a coiled spring. He wrapped an arm around Bokuto’s neck and whined into his mouth.

“‘Kaashi,” Bokuto breathed, sounding a little wrecked about it. His hands clenched at Akaashi’s t-shirt, fingers tugging at the fabric. He pushed forward, tipping Akaashi back onto the cushions. “Can we just–“

“I don’t know,” Akaashi gasped, already failing at holding his resolve.

“Me neither,” Bokuto said, crawling over him. “You’re just so pretty, my brain hurts. And my dick too, by the way. You make my dick hurt all the _time._ ”

Akaashi blushed but was pleased. They hadn’t managed to get very far in previous make-outs because, well, he was chicken. It was so much.

“Ahem,” Akaashi cleared his throat and shifted his hips so Bokuto was leaning across all of him. The sofa was stupid and small and their legs went every which way, but neither seemed to mind. He slipped his hands under Bokuto’s shirt, to press at his stomach, his solid muscles. He was warm and hard and _perfect_.

When Akaashi’s roving hands found his pectorals, Bokuto hummed louder into his mouth, welcoming.

“I wanna touch you so bad,” Bokuto whined. “C’,mon, we got time.”

Akaashi flushed a deep red at those words. He wanted to hold firm, to take time and not rush anything, but his dick was taking charge and he faltered. “Okay,” he murmured and pushed at Bokuto’s t-shirt. “Take this off.”

Bokuto moved so fast he was a blur. In seconds his hideous shirt was gone and he was tugging at Akaashi’s t-shirt, his tongue poking out the side of his mouth in eagerness. Once Akaashi was shirtless, Bokuto licked his lips, taking him in. He leaned over Akaashi and _kissed_ him, all tongue and wet sounds and lips. Akaashi’s cock jumped in his jeans and he could feel Bokuto’s own dick, hard and excited, against his hip.

“Oh, wait,” Akaashi faltered, feeling his shoulder slide off the sofa. “Ack.” They were going to tumble to the floor any second.

“Fuck!” Bokuto sat upright, eyes aflame, chest heaving. “Fuck this stupid sofa. It’s getting in my _way_. C’mon.” And in one swift movement, he scooped Akaashi up in his arms, Akaashi’s legs wrapping around his waist and he marched them over to the kitchen island.

“Boku–“ Akaashi began, confused.

“No, here, now,” Bokuto growled and seated Akaashi on the counter. He made quick work of unbuckling Akaashi’s belt and opening his jeans. “I wanna see. I wanna touch you. I'm tired of just thinking about it and thinking about you in the shower – and when I'm in bed and when I'm talking to people outside.”

Akaashi’s blood rushed south so fast he thought he might faint for real this time. And then Bokuto’s big hands were on him, pulling him out of his underwear, squeezing. Bokuto stared down between them, eyes wide. He licked his lips and glanced at Akaashi. “This okay?”

“Y-yes,” Akaashi nodded fervently. “You too.” And he moved to free Bokuto’s dick from his pants.

It was something Akaashi had dreamed about for years. In his early teens he hadn’t been able to make sense of his yearning, his desires. As he grew older, and his dreams bolder, he’d thought of touches and kisses and caresses and eventually, dicks. This was even better than those dreams.

Bokuto was heavy in his hands, flushed and hot and hard _for him_. It was nuts, really.

“‘Kaashi,” Bokuto whined and nosed at him for a kiss. His hands were gently pulling at Akaashi, making him feel like he was flying and still Bokuto needed kisses and all of Akaashi’s attention. He needed it, craved it.

“Here, let me,” Akaashi directed Bokuto to hold his hips while he took charge. In this position Bokuto could kiss him while Akaashi took both of them in hand and squeezed and pulled and massaged them between his palms.

Bokuto gasped then exhaled sharply on every upward pull. He lipped at Akaashi, brows furrowing. “So good, ‘Kaashi. You’re so perfect. Yeah.” Of course he couldn’t stop babbling, not that Akaashi wanted him to. "I like that, that, _that._ Oh, yes, okay, yes."

Previously Bokuto would get carried away, pressing for more, but Akaashi was the one to control the speed and direction of their horniness. It was a good feeling, to see Bokuto’s expressions, see how his cheeks flushed, see how his muscles flexed and moved as his desire built up inside him.

“You’re so beautiful,” Akaashi whispered. “Does that feel good? Like this?” He rubbed his thumb over the heads of their dicks, circling the pre-come around and around, feeling the twitches being shared between their skin.

Bokuto swallowed and nodded, eyes heavy-lidded. His big hands flexed against Akaashi's hips. He was tall and broad and loud and brash, but he was putty in Akaashi’s hands. Akaashi should have known. “I’m gunna,” Bokuto said, hips shifting, seeking more pressure. “I’m gunna…”

“Mmm,” Akaashi pressed his forehead to Bokuto’s and stared down between their bodies. The inch or two height difference between them meant Bokuto was tall enough that he didn’t have to get on his tip-toes to match Akaashi’s hips on the countertop. They really were a perfect match. He circled his fingers around them both and squeezed a little tighter. It wasn’t as smooth as if they’d had lube, but it was still fucking amazing.

“Oh,” Bokuto grunted. “‘Kaashi. Right there. Like that.” Akaashi worked a little faster, his fingers wet from their combined pre-come. Bokuto nuzzled at him, seeking his lips, and when their mouths met, Bokuto moaned softly, his cock twitching, suddenly wet between Akaashi’s hands. He was coming.

Akaashi felt a rush of affection and joy and when he gave himself another quick few strokes, he too came, streaming against their bellies.

Bokuto’s breathing was harsh and still he sought out Akaashi’s lips, hungry and turned on and eager. “Holy crap,” he said, wrapping his arms around Akaashi and squeezing him close. “That was so good. We gotta do that again. Every day. Every hour. ‘Kaashi _wow.”_

Akaashi laughed, still fuzzy from his own orgasm. He didn’t even feel weak after, which was new. Maybe the adrenaline would keep him upright from here on out? Was this what sex with Bokuto would always feel like?

“We rushed it a little,” he said, pulling back to wipe at Bokuto’s face, not realizing quick enough that his hands were still wet. Bokuto did not seem to mind, eyes bright and locked on Akaashi again. “Oh, no, sorry. We need to wash up before we leave. It's all over us. We're a _mess._ ”

Bokuto grinned and waggled his substantial eyebrows. “Wanna get naked and shower together?”

Akaashi wondered if it was normal to suds up and rub his hands all over his roommate whom he'd been a relationship with for only a week. Technically, if he counted the many years leading up to this, they'd been dating forever. And they were adults. They could do whatever they wanted.

Akaashi had earned that right, goddamnit.

* * *

6 months later

* * *

“Oh my god, really?” Konoha whined while fanning himself with a magazine. “You guys always gotta be late? Gotta make a grand entrance?”

Kuroo smirked and nudged his sunglasses up into his hair as he approached. “Nice to see you too, asshole.”

He and Kenma might have been a little late, but who cared? It was a beautiful, hot, sunny Saturday afternoon and he was going to spend the day trekking through the city with his friends. What more could they ask for?

“Thank god you’re here,” Yaku sighed. “We’ve been baking in the sun, you know. I’m gonna turn into a fried egg any second.”

They’d agreed to meet at the circular concrete fountain that sat as the middle-point between most of their homes. And yes, it was a very steamy, hot day, but as far as Kuroo was concerned, if you couldn’t prepare for the beauty of summertime, then maybe you didn’t deserve a summer at all.

“Hey, today was the only day that worked,” Taketora barked. “I want to go to the park. I wanna have a picnic with the girls. And I want ice-cream.”

“Ice-cream! Ice-cream now!”

Kuroo glared at Taketora for alerting Bokuto to this possibility.

“Hey you, owl-butt,” he said, “we ain’t getting ice-cream until we get to the park. The girls are waiting, you buzzard.”

“Eh?” Bokuto squinted up at him from his spot on the concrete circle that surrounded the huge fountain.

He was, unsurprisingly, with Akaashi. The two of them were dressed for the weather, in tank tops and shorts and Bokuto glistened as if someone had taken the time to slather him in sunscreen.

Kuroo smirked. _Good for Akaashi._

“You made it,” Kenma said, going over to high-five Bokuto. “How’s Osaka?”

“’S fine!” Bokuto yelled. “Same as last time.”

“Oi, you two wanna disentangle so we can go now?” Konoha barked. “I didn’t come all this way to watch you two flirt.”

Bokuto stuck out his tongue. He was sitting beside Akaashi, except he was sideways, with his legs bracketing the other man, one knee bent over Akaashi’s lap, the other at his back. His arms rested on his knees, fully announcing to all and sundry that Akaashi was, perhaps, _his_ boyfriend. Akaashi was not bothered in the least. Those two were joined at the hip whenever Bokuto came back to Tokyo on his days off.

 _Subtle,_ Kuroo thought. Though the two of them _did_ look very happy, very pleased to be stuck together. As much as Kuroo wished Kenma was a little more tactile, seeing Bokuto glued to Akaashi made him reassess how lucky he was.

“Hey, Kaori-chan said they’re having a show at the park if we get there before three,” Konoha said.

“Oh, maybe there will be jugglers and clowns!” Taketora added.

“Or a ventriloquist,” Kenma said drily. Kuroo snorted.

“Oh, a ventriloquist?” Bokuto cried. “That’s like a piano, right?” He mimed poking at piano keys. “I always wanted to learn that but my mom said there was no way in hell she was bringing an instrument into our house.”

The group of boys all turned to look at him.

“ _What,”_ Yaku said loudly. “Is wrong with you?”

“I don’t get it,” Lev said, blinking.

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi said calmly, turning to look his boyfriend in the eye. “You’re thinking of an oboeist. Someone who plays the oboe. And if you imagined a piano, maybe you were thinking of the harpsichord.”

“Ohhhh,” Bokuto leaned his head back. “Maybe.”

Kenma gave Akaashi a long, assessing look. “You’re _sure_ ,” he murmured.

Akaashi blinked up at him from his spot, “Yes. Still sure.”

“You’re _sure_ you want this guy. Even after he said all that dumb shit?” Kuroo bent over, mirroring Kenma’s expression.

Akaashi narrowed his eyes and Kuroo stood upright. _Jeez, he could be scary sometimes._

Akaashi looked at Bokuto, who was distracted by the shattering light breaking through the leaves above them. He blinked, considering, then smiled. “Yes, I’m certain.”

—

Three hours later.

—

“Okay, so then what _is_ a ventriloquist?” Bokuto asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for reading this far. It's been a pleasure. And thank you for the kudos and comments. They really do sustain me through the tough hours between posting chapters. ☺️
> 
> Title is from the one and only Jane Austen.


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